


Heavy is the Crown

by 0Rocky41_7



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0Rocky41_7/pseuds/0Rocky41_7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur bedded the man in the peacock mask at the Hearts masque in a fit of daring, he did not plan on waking up to find it had been the King of Diamonds. Nor did he plan on meeting the man again. But Arthur was never very good at planning his life and his need for Francis spiraled out of his control long before he realized it. The question is: How far will Francis go to protect their affair? And how far would Alfred go for revenge?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Character Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a list of notes that I hope will make things less complicated for those reading this. It should be noted that while all four kingdoms are a strong mix of the cultures of the nations included in them, they most notably present that of their royalty.

**Spades**

  * King: America (17 at the beginning) [tattoo = back of right hand]
  * Queen: England (24 at the beginning) [tattoo = back of left shoulder]
  * Jack: China (63 at the beginning) [tattoo = right side of neck]
  * Ace: Norway (Lukas)
  * Nine: Korea (Yong Soo)
  * Eight: Denmark (Matthias)
  * Seven: Hong Kong (Xiao Chun)
  * Six: Vietnam (Huyen)
  * Five: Cameroon (Ahmadou)
  * Four: New Zealand (Jamie)
  * Three: Australia (Jack)
  * Two: Sweden (Berwald)
  * Jack is advisor to the king; Yao has absorbed much of the original power of the Ace, who is intended to be the alchemist and keeper of magic. Instead, Norway has been downgraded to a low-level advisor.
  * Capitol: The Sapphire City (castle: Spades Castle)
  * Both king and queen born with tattoo; not chosen from a royal line
  * Constitutional monarchy; most power rests with the king, but there is a parliamentary body that can propose laws and take care of tasks given to them by the king
  * Castle: Chinese-style imperial building



**Diamonds**

  * King: France (26 at the beginning) [tattoo = back of right hip]
  * Queen: Liechtenstein (18 at the beginning) [tattoo = center of chest above breast]
  * Jack: Switzerland (32 at the beginning) [tattoo = bottom of left foot]
  * Ace: Monaco (Margot)
  * Nine: Turkey (Sadik)
  * Eight: Seychelles (Angelique)
  * Seven: Canada (Matthew)
  * Six: Spain (Antonio)
  * Five: Belgium (Emma)
  * Four: Romano (Lovino)
  * Three: Luxembourg (Gabriel)
  * Two: Portugal (Rodrigo)
  * Jack is a protector and head of the household guard; Ace is the alchemist and keeper of magic
  * Capital: Diamandis (palace: Crystallides)
  * All royal children born with tattoo; only eldest child succeeds the throne. Queen tattooed before marriage.
  * Absolute monarchy; all power rests with the king. There is an advisory body, but they have no real power.
  * Castle: Versailles-style palace



**Hearts**

  * King: Germany (43 at the beginning) [tattoo = right bicep]
  * Queen: Japan (51 at the beginning) [tattoo = stomach]
  * Jack: Italy (26 at the beginning) [tattoo = right buttock]
  * Ace: India (Reyansh)
  * Nine: Egypt (Gupta)
  * Eight: Taiwan (Meimei)
  * Seven: Ukraine (Iryna)
  * Six: Romania (Andrei)
  * Five: Greece (Herakles)
  * Four: Poland (Feliks)
  * Three: Cyprus (Ibrahim)
  * Two: Cuba (Maximo)
  * Jack is a protector and head of the household guard; Ace is the alchemist and head of religious rites
  * Capitol: Honoria (castle: Red Palace)
  * Queen born tattooed, king tattooed before marriage according to chi flow as determined by the monks
  * Theocracy; king shares power with the main religious institution, which can decide to revoke a king or queen’s status
  * Japanese-style imperial building; low level with many small gardens and courtyards.



**Clubs**

  * King: Russia (37) [tattoo = chest, over heart]
  * Queen: Hungary (33) [tattoo = center of back]
  * Jack: Austria (34) [tattoo = right cheek]
  * Ace: Lithuania (Toris)
  * Nine: Belarus (Natalia)
  * Eight: Estonia (Eduard)
  * Seven: Latvia (Raivis)
  * Six: Netherlands (Lars)
  * Five: Finland (Tino)
  * Four: Thailand (Somchai)
  * Three: Moldova (Alexandru)
  * Two: Iceland (Emil)
  * Jack is advisor to the king, head of national finance; Ace is supposed to be alchemist and keeper of magic, but centuries of abusing magic and persecuting magicians alternately has left Clubs drained of magic. Toris is capable of only tiny feats and acts mainly as another advisor to the king.
  * Capitol: Tristar (Castle: Centerpeak)
  * Neither king nor queen born tattooed; both marked after ascension to the throne.
  * Oligarchic monarchy; power rests with the king, but the nobles must be appeased or they will stage a coup
  * Eastern European defensive stone castle; function over form.



**Jokers**

  * Prussia
  * Sealand
  * Wy
  * Seborga
  * Kugelmugel



**Ranks:** All Numbered citizens are nobles and/or important figures in a kingdom. Numbers are titles, granted by the king and generally heritable. If a Nine of Hearts has three children, the oldest child will inherit the title Nine when their parent dies, unless the parent stipulates otherwise. The younger children will not receive a number, but still gain from the family name. The king may grant them other titles though; for instance, if the Seven of Hearts dies without children, the king may choose to grant the title to one of the Nine of Hearts’ children. Titles are given for service to the kingdom of (occasionally) as political favors. Likewise, they may be stripped away, but only for extreme offenses, such as treason. Titles may also pass to a Number’s spouse, if they choose. The higher the number, the higher the rank. As in typical feudal/imperial societies, family name still holds weight, but Numbers can outrank even a well-established family name, depending on the rank and the Number holder’s family name and personal history.


	2. The Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis meets a most intriguing fellow at the Hearts masquerade, and Arthur decides to let loose for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: This fic is completely finished. I've written the whole thing. So if you like it, never fear about it being abandoned.

Masquerades were always a chance to show off the wealth and opulence of a kingdom, and the Kingdom of Hearts was no exception. While they tended to be a more private kingdom, when they did host an event, they spared no more expense than the rest of the Four Kingdoms. King Ludwig, who disliked such social events, was seated at the end of the main room, watching but not engaging. The room was a perfect square, with a fine reed mat framing the floor. Three doors opened to the gardens on either side, allowing for excellent flow of the guests, and servants passed between the dancers and revelers with trays of food and drink. Long garlands of flowers hung from the rafters, draping down to bring the wonderful smell of the garden inside and blur the line between indoors and out.

                Ludwig spotted Queen Kiku engaged with a Clubs woman off to one side, no doubt talking about something entirely serious. On that front, Ludwig and his queen were quite similar. They were both dressed, while nicely, rather understatedly, and neither of them had made an effort to draw attention to their royal tattoos.

                A few feet in front of Ludwig, on his right and left, the court musicians played their mystical-sounding string instruments, providing a calming backdrop for the noisy party.

                Yet, somehow, even with all this, the Diamonds royals managed to make themselves the center of attention as soon as they came in. Were Ludwig a cat, it would have been possible to watch his hair raise and his hackles go up as the King and Queen of Diamonds burst in, dressed what appeared to be lush peacock plumage, with bustles, and headdresses a foot high. Their masks covered down to their mouths and reached six inches out to the side with their curling ornaments.

                King Francis and Queen Lili always came with matching costumes for parties and today was no exception. It was one of their favorite shared activities, planning their costumes and parties. Ludwig noted that despite the female peacock generally being small, brown and unimpressive, Lili’s costume was nearly as ostentatious as Francis’. They had shed their usual oranges, yellows and reds in favor of peacock blue, green and purple. Ludwig knew it was them though; who else would put on an entrance like that? It had to be Francis. He had hinted at something bird-based when he accepted the invitation.

                Kiku looked up from across the room and his limpid brown eyes met Ludwig’s, knowing immediately that this disruption would annoy his king. Ludwig suppressed a long-suffering sigh and looked back to the left, where King Ivan’s envoys were helping themselves to more than their share of refreshments. The King of Clubs himself hadn’t come, nor his queen, nor his Jack. They were such an extraordinarily isolated kingdom, Ludwig had met Ivan only a handful of times, and disliked him each time. His queen, a fierce warrior woman, was no less frightening, especially in light of Clubs’ tendency to…absorb neighboring villages and dukedoms.

                “Diamonds?” The soft murmur at Ludwig’s right side made him jump a little and he turned to see Kiku lurking there. The queen tucked a graying lock of silky hair behind his ear as he met Ludwig’s gaze. Behind the other ear was a spray of white chrysanthemum, a decoration of his namesake that he wore often to special events.

                “Must be,” Ludwig grunted. “Who else would come here looking so ridiculous?”

                “Have you seen Nine Im’s costume?” Kiku asked. His voice was as calm and level as ever, but Ludwig knew him well enough to sense the disdain.

                “I haven’t.” Ludwig glanced at the crowd again, now somewhat intrigued to see the Nine of Spades’ outfit.

                “He’s come…as an octopus magician,” Kiku said. To Ludwig, the Queen of Hearts’ tone was as dry as their eastern desert, but most anyone else wouldn’t even be able to discern a change in Kiku’s voice. That did sound like something Nine Yong Soo would do.

                “I wouldn’t be surprised if King Alfred had something to do with that,” Ludwig remarked. The two were friends; Im Yong Soo had a place on Alfred’s Royal Council.

                “The King of Spades is, I believe, a wolf tonight,” Kiku said, glancing around to see if he could spot King Alfred. He was the youngest of the Four Kingdoms royalty, coroneted only a few years past. Only a few people had been able to attend, as the Mushroom Forest had launched a full-scale invasion on the southwest Clubs. The Kingdom of Diamonds had sent aid, but the king and queen had not left the kingdom to attend Alfred’s ceremony. King Ludwig and Queen Kiku were the only foreign royals there.

                “Hm.” Ludwig’s response merely indicated he’d heard. He and Kiku had come as historical figures: Kiku as Abet the Wise, a famous monk from Hearts, and Ludwig as Wilhelm III, a past King of Hearts. Their Jack, Feliciano, was somewhere about, dressed as a mouse jester.

                Francis, King of Diamonds, who was indeed the ostentatious peacock, had in fact located the Jack of Hearts and was complimenting him on his costume, while taking the chance to show off his own.

                “It looks really amazing!” Feliciano gushed. “Peacocks are so pretty! Next time I’m going to do something like that!” Francis just smiled smugly, confident in his ability to turn out the best peacock costume in the Four Kingdoms, turning this way and that to put his feathers on display in the flickering lighting of the Hearts ball room. Numerous bursts of flowers, real and sewn, had been worked into his costume so that if gave off the appearance of a peacock in the wild, and brought the smell of the wild flora. When he’d glutted himself on Feliciano’s fawning, he went off to track down a servant and get himself a glass of wine. Off to the side, in his usual bright orange, he spotted Vash, head of the household guard and court finances, as well as often acting as Queen Lili’s personal guard. Francis and Lili had invited Vash to the party with them, but, as usual, he was not one for engaging in festivities. He just stood on the edge of the room, scowling at the group and keeping an eye on Lili.

                Francis approached him with a second glass of wine.

                “Vash! What are you doing over here all by yourself?” Francis asked, offering him a glass. “Come on, come join the party! There’s a stunning girl from Hearts just over there, you should ask her to dance! And have a drink!”

                “Is that an order, Your Majesty?” That was perhaps Vash’s most treasured phrase.

                “No, but you still should,” Francis advised. At the other end of the room, a singer took up amongst the musicians, her sweet voice drifting above the hum of conversation. He held the wine glass up again and Vash took it, folding his arms again without taking a sip.

                “In that case, I shall refrain,” he said. Vash was always respectful, but relaxed enough around Francis after several years to turn him down on things he really didn’t want to do. Francis was king and liked to be praised and given attention, but he wasn’t much one for punishment or flexing his muscles just because he had the power. “Queen Lili may need me.”

                “I’m sure she’s quite safe, Vash, but I appreciate your dedication to her all the same,” Francis said, patting Vash’s shoulder and slipping back into the crowd to ask the young Hearts noble to dance himself.

                Francis was genuine in complimenting Vash’s attentiveness; his young queen’s safety was of great importance to him. Eight years his junior and an utter shrinking violet, Queen Lili had been painfully anxious about wedding a man she’d met only once or twice and suddenly being thrust onto the center-stage as the Queen of Diamonds. It had been a relief to have Vash there to ease her transition and make her more comfortable, so while Francis teased him for never letting her out of his sight, he always reassured Vash he was grateful for the Jack’s presence.

                When Francis was done whirling the dark-haired Heart around and she wandered off to get herself a drink, he moved on to another partner, and another, and then went out into the gardens for a breath of fresh, cool air. Hearts was a very rainy kingdom, and lush with green foliage. Queen Kiku’s gardens were simple, but painstakingly kept and lovingly tended. There were lots of private places to sit and think, or for other purposes, as some drunken party-goers had found that night.

                “…should go enjoy yourself!” One voice reached Francis’ ears above the rest. “That’s the whole point of parties!”

                “Enjoying myself would be staying at home, not being obliged to go to this ridiculous ball!” hissed a second. Never one to preach against eavesdropping, Francis paused to listen. “And the purpose of them is entirely political; you’re completely blind if you think otherwise.”

                “Come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud—ow! Have a drink, you might actually have fun!” advised the first voice amiably, despite what sounded like a small slap.

                “Do you recommend anyone else get drunk to enjoy themselves?” demanded the second.

                “No, but not everyone else has so many problems relaxing and having a good time.”

                “Just because I have no desire to go talk to people does not mean I cannot have fun—!” Francis refrained from snorting, though he’d have liked to see the faces on the bickering pair. “But one of us has to be diplomatic and I surely do not see it being you!”

                “Excuse you, I’m exceedingly diplomatic! I’m the picture of diplomacy!” There was the sound of leaves rustling and two people strode out of the darkness of the gardens, brushing past Francis without a word.

                Amused and cooled down from the heat of the crowded dance floor, Francis returned inside to help himself to some of the snacks floating around on trays. There were particularly delectable strips of fresh fish laid over tiny beds of rice, and palm-sized pastries still warm from the oven and filled with custard, and all manner of other tasty treats. Francis had two consistent vices: Beautiful things, and good food.

                Queen Lili found him with one of the pastries, talking to a pair of Clubs about the trade of emeralds from the north. She waited patiently for a pause in the conversation.

                “Francis?” Her voice was small, but the king heard her and turned.

                “Lili! I didn’t see you there, little mouse. Have you tried one of these pastries? They are delectable. Not as good as ours, of course, but still very good.” He smiled.

                “I had some earlier,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you I might retire early tonight, I am still feeling tired from our trip.” Francis nodded. She nibbled her lower lip, her dark green eyes anxious.

                “Are you feeling alright, my lady? Do you want to go now?”

                “Oh no, I just didn’t want you to worry if you weren’t able to find me later,” she said. “I want Vash to stay and enjoy the party.” When Vash was gone, Francis could always assume Lili had retired for the night.

“Are you having a feeling?” Francis asked.

                Magic in Diamonds was very faded. Most powers were innate, if they appeared at all, and some were difficult to even discern as magical. Queen Lili had stronger powers than most Diamonds, and received preemptive visions or feelings about the future. Sometimes, as well, she could see events of the past, like ghosts walking among the living. When the feelings were bothering her, she often excused herself under the guise of fatigue or headaches.

                “I…I’m just getting a bad feeling. I’m sure it isn’t anything to worry about. There are so many people about, someone is sure to have misfortune coming,” she admitted.

                “I’m sure you are right. You are bound to have more of them being around more people,” he told her, patting her shoulder. Lili frowned. For that reason, she wasn’t very fond of crowds.  “As for Vash, I very much doubt he will linger in your absence, no matter your good intentions.”

                “I wish he would, it would do him good to relax,” she said.

                “I’m quite sure Vash has not relaxed since he took his first breath of air,” Francis said. The pair of Clubs he’d been talking to melted back into the crowd. Lili continued to frown, but Francis gave her a bright smile and pointed her in the direction of a tray of sweets. “Have a treat, my queen,” he said. “And let go your worry—I have come to understand Vash is happy with things like this, as hard as it is to tell with him.”

                “Maybe I shall bring him a treat,” Lili mused thoughtfully.

                “I’m sure he will appreciate it, Your Grace,” Francis said. Coming from Lili, Vash might actually eat it. She went off and Francis turned to find the Clubs gone, not entirely to his displeasure. Lili was young and had little taste for court intrigue, though she helped manage the internal affairs of the Kingdom of Diamonds quite well. Diamonds had a great deal of trade with everyone, but particularly Clubs and Spades. The downfall of this was that the Kingdom of Clubs wasn’t always the most…reliable. Francis scanned the crowd for the two he’d been talking to, but with no success.

                “Lost someone in the crowd?” One of his own men, his Nine of Diamonds, Sadik, approached.

                “A pair of Clubs,” Francis said.

                “Did they come to talk trade?” Sadik was arguably the wealthiest merchant in all of Diamonds, at least in part because he managed all his affairs personally and took a great interest in the trade of Diamonds, internally and externally.

                “They were talking about artificially raising the price of emeralds to make up for their botched attempt to retrieve the rainbow quartz from the eastern mines last month,” Francis said.

                “And what did you say, Your Majesty?” Sadik snagged a fish treat off a passing serving tray.

                “No,” Francis said, with a serious expression reserved almost entirely for kingly duties. “Of course no.”

                “Of course, until it benefits us to say yes.” A sly grin flickered across Sadik’s face beneath his white mask. Francis gave him a haughty look and then a slight smile tugged at his lips.

                “I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about, Nine,” he said. They split ways and over by the doors, there was a lone man in a cat mask and a black and red get-up. Deciding this fellow most certainly needed a dance partner, Francis approached as the man polished off the rest of the glass of sake he was drinking. He bowed to the lone man and offered his hand. “Care to dance?” he asked.

                “No, not particularly,” said the man in the cat mask, looking away. Francis was somewhat surprised.

                “Tired out already?” he asked, a light note of teasing in his voice.

                “No, I just don’t care for dancing,” was the curt reply.

                “And yet here you are at a masquerade,” Francis pointed out airily, sweeping a hand around the room.

                “It would have been impolite to decline,” the man replied stiffly. He placed his empty cup on a passing tray and grabbed a new one.

                “But not impolite to decline my offer?” Francis’ ever-calm, ever-coy blue gaze watched him through the holes in his peacock mask.

                “I don’t even know you,” the cat-masked man replied. “I know the King and Queen of Hearts.”

                “You could know me,” Francis pointed out, offering his hand again. “Here is your chance.”

                “I’m not interested,” said the cat.

                “I’m wounded.” Francis put a hand over his heart. The cat narrowed his eyes at Francis, scrutinizing him.

“You have flower petals in your hair,” he said at last, looking away again and once more occupying himself with his drink. His intent sidestepped, Francis reached up and brushed a hand over his hair, sending a few cherry blossom petals cascading to the ground. _Must have been from the walk in the garden_ , he thought.

“I will not step on your toes, I promise. I’m a good dancer.” He resumed pursuing a dance with the prickly cat man.

                “I’m sure you are,” said the cat, not sounding interested at all, or sure.

                “You can’t be sure unless you dance with me,” Francis said, offering his hand for a third time. The man narrowed his eyes behind the black-blue cat mask.

                “Are you always so persistent?” he asked, peeved.

                “Only when someone gives such a good chase,” Francis told him, a smile to match his alluring gaze passing over his face. The man in the cat mask snorted, but refrained from sharing any personal insults. Francis wiggled his fingers temptingly. “Just one,” he coaxed. “And then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night, knight’s honor.”

                “Aren’t you quite _old_ to be swearing by knight’s honor?” The man in the cat mask raised an eyebrow—which Francis could only tell because the top of it peeked over his mask, suggesting considerable mass. “Fine. One dance. And then that airhead can’t say I don’t know how to have fun,” he added under his breath as he took Francis’ triumphant hand.

                Bristling at the age remark, but mollified by his success, Francis led the prickly fellow out onto the dance floor and then took up the position of the current dance. It was a relatively quick-stepping dance that kept their hands pressed together as they turned circles around each other, occasionally changing partners but always returning back to their original. At one point, the cat-masked man got caught up with an overly-enthusiastic woman from Hearts who was much too rough and kept shouting incoherently at him; he was contemplating revealing his status just to get away when a warm gloved hand slipped into his and pulled him away.  

                “I thought you could use a rescue,” said Francis.

                “I don’t need rescuing from anything,” came the haughty response. “You presume a great deal, _sir_.” There was something mocking about the emphasis on the last word, but to Francis, who was used to being respected and obeyed constantly, it was more amusing than upsetting.

                “If you like, I can return you to your last partner,” he offered much too innocently. It was difficult to tell, but he thought he saw the cat’s eyes narrow beneath his mask.

                “…that would be quite unnecessary,” he replied.

                “Isn’t this better than sulking off on the edge of the room by yourself?” Francis asked a moment later, turning them about with the music.

                “Marginally,” the stranger allowed in an unimpressed voice.

                “Only marginally?” Francis asked in a dramatically distressed voice. “I shall have to try harder then!” His hand slid down to rest on the cat’s waist and he pulled them closer together, guiding them to the edge of the dancing crowd so they could move slower. “I love this song, don’t you?”  He held the other man’s gaze gently but quite attentively.

                “It’s not really my taste,” the man in the cat mask said curtly, glancing away. “But it’s not completely without merit.” His attention was so focused on the peacock-masked man’s hand on his waist that his mind was distracted. The man in question was clearly nudging him to open up more, possibly for some of the fun the couples out in the garden were having, and his first impulse was to reject all semblance of that, but something, perhaps the drinks in his system, suggested he go along with it. Why not? Everyone was always telling him to loosen up and have fun…why shouldn’t he?

                “Not your taste, hm?” For Francis, a closed-off companion was just a challenge and he found his interest piqued by the brusque Spade—he was a Spade, yes? His accent sounded Spades. “Is there something that would please you more?” Francis also happened to be a master of double-entendres.

                “I had nothing specific in mind,” the cat said after a long pause, glancing away. “Call me uncreative in that front.”

                “That’s no problem,” Francis replied smoothly, turning them. “We pride ourselves on creativity in Diamonds. That is…if one is open to suggestions.” The cat’s eyes squinted at him from beneath the mask. He glanced over at a passing servant with a tray of drinks, but he was too far away for the black-clad man to grab another one.

“Like what?” he asked at last, locking gazes with Francis again. Francis traced his fingers along the underside of the cat’s jaw and tilted his head up.

“You don’t seem a fan of large parties,” he said in a lower voice. “Perhaps something more private would suit you better.” He held the other man’s eyes and he seemed to be fiercely debating his answer.

“You seem awfully presumptuous,” the man told him, lifting his chin up further, out of Francis’ grasp. “What if I were promised to another already?” A dangerous smile flickered on Francis’ lips.

“Promises are broken every day in court, and no one ever the wiser,” he pointed out.

“You _are_ presumptuous,” the cat accused. A pair of Hearts passed them, laughing loudly, but neither man glanced away.

“If you felt your promise was in danger, wouldn’t you have left already?” Francis asked, raising his brows. The cat drew in a sharp breath and glared, before relaxing himself.

“I didn’t say I was. Only that you wouldn’t know if I was or I wasn’t,” he said in a level voice.

“But if you were, and you were determined to keep your promise, you would be gone now, knowing that I might lead you to break it,” Francis concluded.

“As if I would break a promise for you,” snorted the cat. “I barely even know you, and what I do know is terribly insufferable.” The man surely wasn’t short on barbed honesty; Francis found it very entertaining.

“Ah, but what’s the fun in people you only get along with?” he asked. Truthfully, he wasn’t one for fighting, but this sort of civil bickering was great fun—especially since he was quite good at outwitting other members of court.

“I wouldn’t know,” came the reply as the cat looked away, towards the King of Hearts standing at the far end of the room with Queen Lili. _No, I imagine not_ , Francis thought. The voice sounded like the same one he’d heard in the gardens earlier, which would make the man disagreeable towards more than just Francis.

After two more songs, Francis was growing warm again and the cat seemed restless.

“The offer to go sit still stands,” he reminded the other man.

“And why, pray tell, are you quite so anxious to be alone with me?” he demanded with a hint of impatience.

“You intrigue me,” Francis said simply, guiding them around another couple. “I find you most interesting.”

“I find you incredibly foolish.” The retort lacked bite though, and Francis dared to hope he might be wearing the cat down.

“Being foolish doesn’t preclude being interesting,” he ventured. “Just as being snippy doesn’t preclude being intriguing.” The green gaze snapped up to him and Francis smiled blithely.

“The gardens are full,” the cat said, by way of pointing out the lack of foresight in Francis’ plan.

“I didn’t plan on taking us to the gardens,” he said, his arm sliding cautiously around the cat’s waist. The other man’s hand jumped from his shoulder to his hip and a more conflicted look entered his eyes as he glanced down.

“Where, then?” he asked. Francis fancied he could almost feel the cat’s heartbeat.

“A quiet spot,” Francis said vaguely. “I know a place. We’ll be alone there.”

“That would be…agreeable,” he said at length, somewhat to Francis’ surprise. But he nodded, pleased. He guided them across the floor, still dancing, to the edge of the room, then released his dance partner and beckoned him down the hall, away from the party. He’d been to a few functions at the Hearts palace before and if he recalled correctly, there was a nice sitting room not far from here. On their way, he grabbed a passing servant and, in a low voice, requested a tray of drinks to the Golden Study.

It was delightfully empty and Francis let go of the cat’s arm at once to go throw open a window at the far side, letting in fresh air and the smell of Queen Kiku’s cherry blossom trees. The orchard had been a wedding gift from King Ludwig. There were several chairs seated in a semi-circle off to one side, around a fireplace that wasn’t lit, a desk on the other and not far from that, a golden embroidered chaise-lounge.

The cat-masked man glanced around the hall before slipping into the room and eyeing it warily, as if a threat might leap out from behind the desk with a sword.

“Why are we here?” the cat asked, tensing up, but gently pressing the door shut behind him.

“I thought you might like this better,” Francis said. “Fewer people. You don’t enjoy crowds, do you?” One of the reasons Francis was able to seduce people with such ease had nothing to do with his skill as a lover or his ethereal good looks, but because he was so incredibly good at reading people. He could read a thousand thoughts off a person’s face, tone, body posture, past behavior, all without them ever saying a word.

Another reason was the glamor. His personality was charming, yes, but not quite so much as to be able to convince people to do the things he did. His ability to win others over also had something to do with the magic that whispered in his veins, putting a touch more power in that winning smile or that soft tone. Often, because he had never been trained, the skill never cultivated, it happened without his intent, or even knowledge. It had taken many years before their Ace even suggested he might have the skill. There was a touch of this being exhibited towards his companion now.

“…no, not particularly.” The cat, feeling warm, perhaps, unbuttoned his black coat and laid it over the arm of a chair, running his hand over the back of the seat. “But the gardens…those are lovely.” His tone was guarded, stiff; Francis might never have guessed he were talking about something he _enjoyed_ if he’d only been listening to the man’s voice. “The ones back home are the best though,” he asserted.

“Is that so? I assume you’ve seen the one at the Spades Palace; it is something to behold,” Francis said.

“Actually, that garden—” The cat was cut off as a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the servant Francis had hailed earlier. He crossed over and accepted the tray with a smile and thanks.

“Just because we left the ballroom doesn’t mean we have to leave the party,” Francis said grandly, setting the tray on the desk and pouring them each a glass of sake. “Would you like a drink?” The cat, as seemed to be his habit, considered this and then took the proffered drink from Francis’ hand.

“I believe I will, thank you.” Very measured, very controlled. Francis leaned against the back of the couch and watched the other man from beneath thick blond eyelashes. He was definitely making a go of this one, not, of course, that such kingly attentions or skills were ever put to the use of seducing people in back rooms, because such a habit would be _most_ ungentlemanly. Francis wandered over to the chaise-lounge, taking a seat and crossing his long legs at the ankle to make a nice display of them. He left plenty of room on the chaise-lounge, should his companion desire a seat—the chairs arranged for conversation-making were conveniently too far away from Francis’ chosen seat to allow the cat to take one and have a normal conversation. He would have to stand or share the chaise-lounge.

“So why the cat?” Francis asked, taking a sip of his drink. “It’s quite understated.”

“I like cats,” the man replied, tracing a finger around the rim of his glass before taking a long drink. “They’re independent, self-sufficient…rulers of their own castles, if you will.” He took another drink and began to walk over to the chaise-lounge. Color showed high on his cheeks; Francis wondered if perhaps he oughtn’t have offered the man another drink. “What about you?” he asked, stopping in front of Francis and looking down at him. “Why such a garish, outlandish costume?”

“I think peacocks are beautiful,” Francis replied simply, with a decidedly flirtatious smile. “And…I have a terrible weakness for beautiful things,” he said, stretching the words out languidly. This was true, and one of few character flaws Francis would admit to—perhaps because it couldn’t be counted _entirely_ as a flaw. Whether it be art, nature, music, people…Francis was utterly in love with beauty, it touched his soul, made him feel in a way that reminded him thrillingly of his own life and mortality. “That is why I’m here with you,” he added, giving the cat an obvious confirmation of his intentions.  

The man didn’t seem impressed, judging by his loud scoff. Francis tried to determine if the flush in his cheeks was drink or Francis’ own attention. Maybe both.

“For a man of Diamonds, you have curiously odd taste,” he accused, but a moment later, he was seated on the chaise-lounge. Candles flickered on the wall sconces behind them and for a moment, the cat was utterly captivated by the play of the orange light on Francis’ golden locks. His hand twitched and Francis’ gaze immediately moved to watch it, but the cat managed to keep his fingers to himself. The King of Diamonds held very still, the tilt of his head and his posture almost inviting the other man to touch if he wanted.

“I don’t think I do,” he replied in a softer voice, shifting slightly on the lounge so their knees rested against each other. He held the cat’s gaze, both of them watching the other, waiting, barely breathing. The cat’s hand twitched again and Francis gave the slightest of nods, which seemed to bolster the cat—he reached out and brushed his fingertips ever so lightly against the tresses of hair peeking out from beneath the ribbon of Francis’ mask, tracing his hand down to Francis’ neck, where his pulse beat warm and steady. Francis tilted his face towards the cat, giving him as much access as he wanted. There was a quiet intimacy there, for a moment.

“Oh, sod it all!” the cat exclaimed at once, impatient with himself. He dashed his drink aside and seized the front of Francis’ coat to pull him in for a heavy kiss.

It almost surprised Francis more that the man managed to catch him by surprise, than the initial surprise of the kiss itself. He had expected the cat to fall beneath his charms but perhaps not quite all at once like that. Regardless, Francis was nothing if not adaptable in these sorts of situations and he did enjoy it when his lovers managed to surprise him. The moment of surprised passed with him returning the sudden, deep kiss while his free hand—the one not occupied with a glass of sake—moved to rest on the cat’s hip. So the kitten was willing to play after all! What a delight.

When the cat drew back, distinctly pink in the face and panting, he took Francis’ drink from him and set it aside before diving in again. His hands slid down Francis’ chest, over his abdomen, and gripped his waist. Any questions Francis might’ve had about his companion’s commitment to their tryst were quickly put to rest, to his joy. Freed of his drink, he wrapped his arms around the man’s waist, pulling him in close to close the distance between them. His tongue brushed over the cat’s lips, seeking entrance there, as his hands slid down to give the man’s ass a shameless squeeze.

His next glimpse of the cat’s face—what could be seen around his mask, anyway—was of a smirk, as the man’s hand snaked between his legs and squeezed Francis in a way that made him gasp in pleasure.

“Aren’t you a cheeky bird?” the cat panted. “Let’s see how you sing.” His palm began to work against Francis’ trousers.

“Let’s see if you can make me,” Francis challenged, excitement shining in his eyes as he pulled the cat into another kiss, nipping sharply at his lower lip. He brushed his hand over the cat’s waist, but never lower, and a low groan resonated in the other man’s chest.

“I always love a challenge,” the cat retorted with his mouth was free of foreign tongue. He sat back a moment, going already to unlace Francis’ pants, the look in his eyes unmistakably hungry. The grin Francis met him with was positively wolfish as he leaned up to start kissing the cat’s neck. His own hands busied themselves undoing the buttons on the cat’s waistcoat and pulling his shirt free of his belt, so Francis could stuff his hands underneath and feel the lithe frame skin on skin. The cat pressed lightly into his touch and Francis’ hands ghosted around his bony hips, still avoiding touching him directly where he wanted it.

The cat raised himself up on his knees and began stripping off his unbuttoned waistcoat, following it with his shirt, making some clumsy attempt at a show with it. Francis leaned in to his chest and tilted his head back to look up at the cat through his eyelashes before he started to press kisses to the other man’s warm torso, occasionally dragging his teeth across the skin, or pausing to suck on a particular spot. The cat drew in a long, shaky breath as he watched Francis. He raised one hand to the back of Francis’ head, digging his fingers into the long hair as Francis’ mouth reached his nipples, nibbling and suckling at them with skill that denoted far too much practice.

“I was right,” Francis murmured against the beat of the cat’s heart, “you are a beautiful thing.” There was another quiet snort from the cat, but he didn’t protest—instead, he busied himself removing Francis’ coat and loosening his collar. When he’d undone all the necessary buttons and could touch Francis as he wanted, he slid his hands over the King of Diamond’s shoulders, rubbing at the muscle there appreciatively. “Mm…” Francis made a pleased sound and moved his kisses up to the cat’s throat and neck, nibbling experimentally. His hands couldn’t resist a return to the cat’s backside, so he gave in.

The cat began panting under Francis’ continued attentions and after a few moments he let go of his partner to undo his own pants and free his half-hard member to work it himself.

While there was something incredibly sexy in watching the man please himself, Francis was more interested in doing it himself, particularly as they had never been together before (one always had to make a good first impression!).

“Come now, let me treat you like a king,” he said, sliding the cat’s trousers and underwear down to bare him more fully. Francis’ hands slid up the backs of the cat’s milky pale legs as the man cast an imperious look down at Francis, the whiskers on the cat mask somewhat drawing away from the imposing intent of the look.

“Get to it then, peasant,” he said, his fingers twisting up a bit more in Francis’ hair.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Francis said in a velvety tone, delighted with the cat’s participation. He lay back on the divan and pulled the cat forward; there was a moment of surprise on the man’s face as he tipped forward, before he caught himself against the arm of the chaise-lounge and Francis’ lips were moving quickly down his chest towards his abdomen, and from there—oh. _Oh_. Francis would’ve grinned at the whimpering moan of pleasure the cat tried so hard to stifle, if his mouth hadn’t been full.

The mystery lover was warm and responsive in his mouth as Francis sucked him. The man’s hips jerked slightly as Francis’ tongue traced up his length and Francis gently took his hips to hold him still.

“Fuck,” he heard the man whisper. His legs had begun to tremble and Francis could hear the strain in his voice. “Oh, _fuck_. Ah—yes, please, yes!” But Francis had no intention of the night ending there and he drew back before the cat could come too close to climax. As he let the cat fall from his mouth, the man gave a noise of disappointed indignation. Francis had plans though.

He slowly sat up, nudging the cat back to his previous position, where he grasped the cat’s waist and flipped them around to lay the other man down on the chaise-lounge. He pressed a deep kiss against the cat’s lips, nibbling and nipping at him as the cat ground his hips up against Francis’. The cat yanked the ribbon from Francis’ hair and combed his fingers through it, tugging when Francis’ hand brushed around his groin, avoiding his aching arousal. “You must be from Diamonds,” Francis murmured, leaning down to press kisses to the cat’s stomach. “Your eyes are just like jewels.”

“Ah…fah, you’re wrong again,” the cat said breathlessly, gripping the couch with one hand to stop himself from arching up, even as Francis failed to put his mouth where he really wanted it—choosing instead to lavish his kisses and nips on the cat’s stomach, hips and thighs. “You are still more suited to it…I could lose myself in those eyes…they remind me of the seas of Spades…” Another stifled groan escaped from him and he grabbed at Francis’ hair again as an ache of desire shot through him. The feathers of Francis’ mask brushed against the insides of his thighs and made him twitch. “You know…a king waits for no one,” he said pointedly. “Not even the sea.”

Francis raised his head to kiss the cat again, the heat in his gut growing at the noises of pleasure from the man on the chaise-lounge. “Then I’ll have to work faster,” he said, reaching down for his coat, to withdraw a small vial. He uncorked it and freed his own erection to rub the fluid along it.

While Francis tried to ready himself, the cat sat up and started biting and sucking at Francis’ neck, which really didn’t help his focus, but did something for his urgency. The cat hooked a leg around him and made a feeble attempt at swapping their places again, but Francis pushed him back against the chaise-lounge and he gave up the fight. When they were both ready, Francis positioned himself and pushed into the cat, both of them panting quietly. Francis pressed kisses to the cat’s shoulder, breathing heavier for the overwhelming feeling of just being encased.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Francis told him, not about to ruin the moment by moving before his lover was accustomed to being filled.

“Shit…just fuck me you prick, stop teasing,” the cat groaned, giving into the urge to rut up against Francis.

“Aren’t you the master of literature?” Francis gave the man an amused look, but obeyed and grasped his hips to get the best angle to start thrusting. A loud moan erupted from the cat and he looked momentarily mortified before grabbing Francis’ face with no semblance of gentleness and kissing him hard enough to bruise. Francis gasped into their kiss as he moved in and out of the cat, and the other man clawed at his back as befit his costume, leaving angry red trails down Francis’ back. Far from being bothered, this spurred Francis to thrust in harder, masks jostling on both of them, until mewls of pleasure were coming helplessly from his partner.

He returned the cat’s kiss, but not with the same demanding pressure, and one hand went down to pump his lover’s length in time with his own movements. The cat cried out as Francis gave a low moan and his fingernails dug into Francis’ back, pulling the King of Diamonds closer to him. By the time he came with a poorly-stifled whine, he was pushing up into Francis’ hand without a care in the world for dignity. Francis couldn’t resist another moan at the sight of the cat’s orgasm and he sped up his movements as the cat pulled him closer, clutching the man against him. The warm, supple flesh beneath his fingertips, the fine line of his hips, the cool shelter of his neck; they were all fantastic and Francis drew the man into another needy kiss, losing himself entirely in the moment. He muffled his moan against the cat’s jaw as he came as well, the heat of climax washing over him.

Energy spent, they both paused to catch their breath and Francis wiped his hand, spattered with his lover’s fluid, on his trousers, which he’d have washed later. He pulled out and began to trail slow, gentle kisses up the cat’s neck until he captured his partner’s lips.

“Beautiful indeed,” he purred with satisfaction, tracing his fingers up the cat’s side.

“Hm. You’re not terrible yourself,” the cat replied, receding back into his previously reserved persona now that the heat of the moment had passed. Then he smiled though, a tiny, half-sure thing and reached up to tug at Francis’ hair again. He let out a gusty sigh and went limp against the chaise-lounge. “God, it’s been too long since I had a good shag.”

Francis gave a self-congratulatory little smile and pulled the cat into his arms so there was room for him to lay down as well. “Glad to be of service to my king,” he teased, finding their little game all the more entertaining for the role reversal it put them in. “Sometimes these balls can be rather exciting, no?” he said, lifting the cat’s hand to press kisses to his fingertips.

“Sometimes,” the cat said around a yawn, his shrewd eyes clouded over with post-coital sleepiness and an excess of sake. He let his head droop against Francis’ chest and gave some minimal attempt to resettle himself, the best he could do given how tangled up they were. “I suppose I ought to thank you for making it more interesting…”

“My pleasure, absolutely,” Francis replied. He wondered if perhaps he might get the chance to see (and bed) this man again. It would be hard to find him if he didn’t get to see his face tonight…but perhaps tracking him down would be part of the fun. There was no response from the other man, he barely seemed awake anymore. Judging by the position of the moonlight outside, and the fact that Francis could no long catch even quiet snatches of conversation beyond the window, it was late. He didn’t fancy prying the cat off him and getting dressed to stumble his way to his and Lili’s shared room now.

He glanced down at the cat, who was most decidedly asleep, he decided to follow the other man’s lead. Reaching a hand back behind his head, Francis pulled loose the ribbon holding his mask on and set it aside before laying his head against the pillow on the chaise-lounge to get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/144784315605/heavy-is-the-crown-ch-1)


	3. Smoothing the Waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis and Arthur wake up the next morning and deal with the events of the night before

Damn it all! Damn his luck, and damn it again, and damn it a third time! Of course, of _course_ the one time he decided to let loose, it backfired on him. He never could have predicted it, and yet it was utterly unsurprising, insofar as Arthur seemed to be doomed to self-destruction. The curses flying through his head as he hurried down the hall to his and King Alfred’s room were nothing shy of heart-stopping.

                He just wanted a quick lay, was that so bad? Was it really the end of the world? A hundred kings had a thousand affairs, but he took one night for himself and this was his payback! If Alfred ever found out—well Alfred _wouldn’t_ find out because this was the end of it and if the King of Diamonds ever dared speak a word of it Arthur would throttle him in the dark of night with his own two hands.

                But it had been so long…it had been so _long_ since anyone had paid attention to him the way that blasted Diamond had last night. So maybe he’d had a few to drink, and maybe it had been _nice_ to be treated like something desirable, something attractive. He just wanted one night to…well, to be treated like a queen! So to speak! Well, this is what he got for going against his fate as queen, he thought bitterly.

                He growled and rubbed one eye hard with the heel of his hand, trying to banish from his mind the memory of the King of Diamond’s abominabl(y skilled) hands, and his blasted (talented) tongue and everything else about him. When he flung open the door to their room, he was unsurprised to find it in total darkness, curtains drawn, with Alfred sprawled across the entire bed, snoring. He denied the snoring, but as the one who often had to listen to it for hours on end during their longer carriage rides, Arthur would have to disagree.

                “Alfred! Get up, we need to be packing to go,” he said, jerking the covers off. Alfred didn’t move or even wake. It took several moments of prolonged shaking and varying levels of shouting (while trying not to be too disruptive to the rest of the palace) to roust Alfred from his sleep.

                “Wha--? Huh? Did something happen?” He sat up, his hair askew and standing up in several places, a dumb, groggy look on his boyish face. “Hey, there you are! Where were you last night?” He smiled. The fact that he managed to be in a good mood at this hour after having just woken up made Arthur feel horribly vindictive.

                “I…I had rather too much to drink and I found another place to sleep,” he said evasively. As usual though, Alfred took his reply at face value and didn’t look any deeper into it. He’d been a rare find, a commoner with the Spades mark. They were lucky to have found him when they did though—their last king, Harold, had died without an heir. Arthur had been marked among a noble family of blood relation to the royal family, so he had tied the kingdom over for two years until Alfred was located in his father’s merchant shop. The problem, as Arthur had fumed to their Jack Yao in the early days, was that he was just a _boy_! He wasn’t fit to be king at all! To top it off, he was headstrong, overly independent, obnoxious and _loud_!

                Somehow though, they’d learned to make it work over the past two years. And Arthur would even grudgingly admit that he was fond of Alfred. There was no denying the boy was smart, whatever he might appear at first glance. He knew how to handle a kingdom better than Arthur would have ever guessed and he suspected (hoped) that Alfred would be a great king in his later years.

                At the moment, he was grinning and looking much too entertained by the idea of Arthur passed out drunk somewhere. “Get up!” he snapped. “We need to be packing our things for the return trip.”

                Alfred flopped back on the bed with a loud groan. “Already? Can’t we at least stay until lunch?”

                “No, we need to be going early.” Arthur was most definitely NOT risking them having to have breakfast and luncheon with Francis smirking at him the whole time.

                “I am the king,” Alfred grumbled. “Shouldn’t I decide when we’re going?” But he kicked off the rest of the covers and got up, flexing the muscles in his back as he stretched.

                Yes…the problem with Alfred was that he was still so much the boy, despite being seventeen summers. He and Arthur hadn’t gone to bed since consummating their wedding night and _that_ had been a truly dismal affair, in Arthur’s opinion. Whatever ease Alfred had gained with Arthur in between their engagement and their wedding night had evanesced in seconds, leaving Arthur with a blushing virgin at the foot of his bed, who seemed not only uncertain, but unwilling to do what was needed of him. He seemed to find the whole thing distasteful and had not once visited Arthur’s chambers again since then. And Arthur wasn’t one to complain (or he liked to think he wasn’t), but!

                Under penalty of life imprisonment, he might admit to having once drunk too much and tried to persuade Alfred to come back, just once, because he needed it so badly. The result, far from what Arthur’s ale-addled mind had been hoping for, was a panicked threat to put a moratorium on Arthur’s access to all alcohol if he ever tried that again. Arthur hadn’t been sure whether to be mortified that Alfred had rejected his blatant request for sex, or relieved they hadn’t gone through with it under the fog of too much alcohol.

                In either case, it had thus been two years since he’d slept with anyone. As queen, he was expected to remain faithful to his king. Alfred could have as many affairs as he wanted, but he’d never shown an inclination. Arthur was one part pleased and proud of him for being a loyal (if arranged) husband, and one part frustrated that at least one of them wasn’t taking advantage of the freedom.

                “I will call the servants to collect your things,” Arthur said as Alfred got dressed, raking his hands back through his short, dark blond hair.

                “Thank you, my queen.” Alfred had been horrible with remembering proper titles, but he was starting to get better…not that Arthur counted Alfred jokingly calling him “my lady” counted.

                “Just make sure you are ready to go before noon, my lord,” Arthur said. Tacking respectful titles onto the end of his demands perhaps was intended to lessen the impression he was ordering his king around like a disobedient child.

                As he went off to locate their servants, he was lulled by a horrifyingly sated feeling from the night before that reminded him far too pleasantly of being thoroughly ravished by the King of Diamonds. He groaned quietly to himself and rubbed his eyes with one hand. He upbraided Alfred for being impulsive, but honestly, times like this made him wonder if he was any better.

***

                The morning had begun a bit more pleasantly. Francis had been woken by his lover stirring in his arms and then sliding free, grumbling under his breath about something. The sound of curtains being yanked shut preceded the light in the room dimming considerably. Francis opened his eyes and yawned, lifting his head to look over at the cat, who, to his pleasure, was stark naked as he pulled one curtain closed.

                “Hello, Your Majesty,” Francis purred. He stretched out on the divan, reaching one arm out over the arm of it and laying his head down there. “I believe this is the best view I’ve ever woken up to at the Hearts palace.”

                “You’ve had your fun, there’s no need for you to continue with that sappy flattery,” the man replied in a tart tone. Francis gave a lazy grin in answer, but then something on the man’s shoulder blade caught his attention and his expression sobered as he peered at it.

                “Is that a tattoo on your shoulder?” he asked, raking a hand back through his hair to push it out of his face. He’d had it back all nice and neat for the party but his lover had yanked the ribbon out last night in their passion. “What is it?”

                “A Spade, of course,” the man responded as if Francis were exceptionally stupid, and when he turned to look at Francis, the light from the uncovered window shining behind him, he looked familiar in a way that made Francis’ stomach drop.

                “Arthur, Queen of Spades?” he asked weakly, needing to confirm without a doubt his folly before he set to truly panicking.

                “Of course, did you not see us enter last night?” Arthur demanded, squinting at the unbelievably foolish man in front of him.

                “I didn’t know!” Francis sat up and rubbed his temples. “Shit. Shit.” Perturbed by his reaction, Arthur drew back the curtain he’d just closed to have a better look and what he saw practically made him hiss.

                “You idiot! You’re the King of Diamonds, what are you doing going around sleeping with other people’s queens, you sluttish cad?” He began to stuff himself back into his clothes, suddenly appalled at the idea of being in a state of undress in front of this man.

                “I told you I didn’t know!” Francis said defensively, glaring. “And you’re a queen, what are you doing sleeping with other people’s kings?” Arthur’s face flushed at the accusation, so he chose to acknowledge the first part of Francis’ statement instead.

                “How could you not know, you great bloody fool?” He jerked too hard on his loosened cravat and pulled it off entirely.

                “We’ve only met twice in person!” Francis too, started scrambling to get his clothes back on and bury the evidence of their tryst. “And if you remember, we were considerably younger the first time!” Arthur had not come to Francis’ coronation, because it had come at a truly terrible time for the Kingdom of Diamonds. Wracked by plague, the kingdom’s borders had been shut for weeks by the time the last king, Clovis II, succumbed and left the throne to his wide-eyed, fourteen-year-old son, still recovering from a battle with the illness himself. The Minister of Foreign Affairs had had to prop Francis up as he walked to the throne with the scepter and royal orb, and Arthur had not met him until some years after that, when he was seventeen. There had been balls and parties of course, but there were so many people, and Francis and Arthur disagreed frequently already between their governments, so they had never sought each other out. Not to mention, Alfred though Francis was more fun and that annoyed Arthur too much for him to stick around whenever the two kings spoke.

                Arthur himself had been crowned a mere four years ago, after the death of Queen Regent Xi-Mei.

                “We’ve met more often than that!” Arthur argued as he hastily laced his trousers, trying to force from his mind the memory of Francis—the King of Diamonds’!—fingers (and tongue) there.

                “But we’ve hardly spoken,” Francis clarified, rubbing his eyes. He’d done some stupid things in his life, but this might take the cake. “And regardless, you had a hand in this too, my dear Queen of Spades!”

                “I didn’t recognize you!” Arthur said, louder than he’d intended, judging by the way he immediately glanced at both walls anxiously.

                “How could you not recognize _me?_ ”

                “Contrary to your belief, you are not as stunningly beautiful as you seem to think!” Arthur snapped as he jerked his waistcoat closed. “Just an exceptionally easy king to bed!”

                “You weren’t protesting that last night,” Francis pointed out with an accusing gesture at Arthur, whose face grew hot again even as his eyes narrowed under his fearsome brow.

                “If you speak a word of this,” he began to threaten.

                “Speak of it?” Francis interrupted, drawing himself up in offence. “You think because of a silly misunderstanding I would betray this? What kind of man do you take me for, my lord?”

                “A very disloyal one!” Arthur jerked his coat on over his shoulder and strode for the door.

                “Better bathe alone the next few days, in case someone should see your love bites!” Francis couldn’t resist calling after him caustically. Halfway through slamming the door shut, Arthur seemed to realize making a lot of noise was a bad idea, but by then he was a little committed.

With a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh, Francis flopped back against the divan and rubbed his eyes. Lili turned a blind eye to his affairs because he swore he would never threaten her position at court or take the opinion of his lovers above hers, but he doubted even she would sanction his sleeping with another queen.

And of all queens, _Arthur_! Francis tried not to think about how he’d sensually admired the curve of the queen’s (admittedly sharp) hipbones, the stark pale flesh of neck and the throaty sound of his moans the night before.  Surely Francis had _some_ semblance of standards! Even if he’d spoken directly to Arthur only a handful of times, court gossip spread and so he knew full well what a socially inept, solitary thing Arthur was. This thought, however, made him pause to congratulate himself on managing to seduce the man anyway.

Shaking his head, Francis got to his feet and finished getting himself dressed again. In their haste to exit, neither he nor Arthur remembered to close the windows to the garden before leaving. On the opposite side of the Hearts palace, Lili was curled up in a grand red bed, Francis’ side still open if he chose to join her. He passed only a single servant on his way, to whom he gave a brilliant smile in hopes of deflecting questions.

Rather than wake Lili, Francis got out of his costume and rang for a bowl of hot water to wash up a bit. It was very tempting to crawl into bed with Lili and get some real sleep, but he knew if he did they wouldn’t be out of there before evening and one didn’t want to press Ludwig and Kiku’s hospitality. When he’d dressed in an appropriate travel outfit, Francis went to rouse Lili, and found she was awake already.

“They gave us a very nice bed,” she said, rubbing the mattress.

“Did they?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I trust you didn’t experience it?” She raised a little eyebrow and Francis shook his head.

“Is it not too early for you to scold me?” he asked. “You haven’t even gotten out of bed yet, my lady.” She smiled a little, her eyes still foggy with sleepiness.

“It’s never too early, Francis.” He smiled back and got up, going to the vanity to check his hair.

“While I admit it was tempting to join you, I fear I would sleep another six hours if I did,” he said. Lili yawned and turned to look at the light coming through the windows.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Still early morning,” Francis replied. “Perhaps six or seven.” Lili gave him a big-eyed look with a slight pout on her lips.

“Do we have to get up just yet?” she asked sweetly. Francis looked at her pleading green eyes for a moment and gave in, letting his hands fall away from his hair. It wasn’t hard to convince him to sleep in, just as it wasn’t hard to convince him to throw a feast or attend a gala. “I felt very tired last night…”

“No, I suppose we can sleep a while longer,” he conceded, going over to lay down on top of the covers. Lili smiled and snuggled back down against her pillow. Sometimes the barrage of feelings from outside her own self could exhaust her; she slept often.

“Thank you, my lord,” she sighed happily, closing her eyes. Francis smiled softly and gave her hair a few pats before joining her in rest; he was out in just a few minutes. That divan really had not been made for two.

***

By the time Lili and Francis woke again, it was late morning and sunlight was determinedly blazing through the gaps between the curtains. With a groan, Francis rubbed his eyes and pushed himself upright. Lili was up and pawing through her dresses to find the travel outfit she’d brought for their return trip.

“I should get our packing started,” Francis offered, his voice croaking slightly from all the sleep. He winced at the sound, but Lili just smiled and nodded. Seven years of marriage had left them with relatively few secrets and despite his private base nature, Francis found it something of a relief. He wasn’t constantly trying to keep up an image with Lili and she honestly didn’t care how unsexy he might look first waking up in the morning, or how irritable he got when he was tired, or how hard it was to make him stop giggling at everything when he drank too much. He wasn’t trying to impress her, they were just working together and there was something a bit freeing in that, especially after the previous night.

He fixed his hair again and called their servants to come pack and clear their things. Ludwig and Kiku had dined already, he was told, but they had left food for their guests in the dining hall. When Lili was dressed, they went down to eat, and found the Spades delegation had left already.

“Already?” Francis asked in surprise, blinking. “It’s not even noon yet!”

“They were out quite early this morning,” said the Five of Clubs, Tino. “Perhaps they had something to do back home.”

“Doubtful,” Francis muttered. He strongly suspected it had something to do with Arthur not wanting to dine with him. Well, more fool him then, for missing out on the pastries they’d been left.

“Are you going to be leaving soon?” Lili asked the Five conversationally as she helped herself to a cup of juice.

“No, we’re staying another day,” Tino said, shaking his head. He was a good-natured fellow, but he could be every bit as solitary and uncompromising as the Clubs were known for. “We have trade to discuss with the Heart of the Forest logging company,” he explained.

“Ah, I see.” Lili nodded and tore a piece off her pastry to nibble on.

“You won’t get far with your tariffs as high as they are,” Francis volunteered, even though his opinion had not been asked for. Tino’s gray eyes flicked over to the king and the look suggested he was not grateful for the advice.

“Tariffs are not my business,” he said. “Carriages, sleds and wagons are my business.”

“A business you do quite well,” Francis said, letting go the politics.

The courtyard out front was busy as the King and Queen of Diamonds made their way out. It was bustling with servants carrying trunks, guiding horses and driving wagons, as well as all the invited nobles from the Four Kingdoms preparing to make their leave, or planning to extend their stay. The Hearts Seven, Iryna, waved them a cheery goodbye on her way out.

“I still can’t believe she was a Club,” Lili confided in a whisper to Francis as they climbed into their carriage, gilded and emblazoned aplenty with the various diamond designs of their kingdom in enough shades of orange to paint a tree in fall. “She seems to fit so much better here.”

Francis shrugged. “I’m sure King Dmitri chose her marriage here for a reason. Perhaps that was it.” Iryna’s father, the previous King of Clubs, had married her to a Hearts noble, the previous Seven of Hearts, who had succumbed to an injury received during a horse race and died some six years ago. Having demonstrated an incredible talent for expanding the Hearts agricultural industry, Iryna had received her late wife’s title upon her death. But Lili was right, Iryna’s cheerfulness didn’t at all fit with the cold Clubs stereotype. Neither was she as reserved as the Hearts though; strangely enough, she was simply a pleasant person to be around.

“I thought that was fun,” Lili concluded as the carriage jolted into movement. “It’s nice when everyone comes together to have a good time, don’t you think?”

“The more the merrier,” Francis agreed distractedly, peering out the carriage’s foggy window.

“Did you have a good time?” Lili asked, watching her husband’s face. Francis considered the answer for a moment, still watching the Hearts Palace grow smaller behind them. Lili took out a small book and let her eyes glide over the page, repeatedly glancing up at Francis.

“I’m not quite sure yet,” he said at last.

***

Now a wise person would’ve put the incident out of their mind and moved on with life, but it was perhaps apparent from the occurrence of the incident at all, that neither Francis nor Arthur were particularly wise, at least not when it came to matters of the heart, and so neither of them quite managed to let it go as they should’ve.

The party had been nearly a week ago, and so Arthur had no excuse for the tantalizing dream he was now locked in, feeling the King of Diamonds’ hands on his back and legs and those hot lips moving down his abdomen until Arthur was once again encased in that wet heat that made him moan with abandon.

But it went nowhere, because before he had relief in his grasp, a sharp rapping at his door roused him and reminded him that he was no longer on the divan in the palace of Hearts, with that loathsome Diamond tearing his clothes off, but at home, in his own bed, with a highly conspicuous tent in his nightdress.

“Arthur, are you up yet?” Alfred, of course. No one else would dare rouse the queen unless the castle was burning down around their ankles. Arthur had enough time to sit up and jerk his knees upright to provide sufficient slack in the quilts to hide the evidence of his traitorous mind before Alfred appeared in his bedchambers, fully dressed and bright-eyed as ever. There were too many days when Alfred made Arthur feel like an old man already. “You slept late today!” Alfred exclaimed, seeing Arthur’s bird’s nest of a hairdo and groggy-eyed glare, making it clear he’d just woken.

“I was working with the master of coin yesterday on funds for the navy,” Arthur defended himself, though he too, was generally an early-riser, not deterred by yesterday’s work. Alfred shrugged.

“It’s fine, we don’t have anything to do today.” Alfred hovered there, by the door, and touched nothing in the room. He was king of all the realm, but Arthur’s quarters were his own and Alfred ceded power to him there, not quite daring to make himself at home. “I just wanted to talk to you about the party.” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and Arthur nearly coughed his heart up onto the bed. His eyes flicked away to focus on the daffodils on the vanity, which were still curled up on themselves, only just having been brushed by the light flooding into the room as the servant ahead of Alfred threw back the curtains.

“The party? Whatever for?” he asked, blaming the slight hoarseness in his voice on the fact that he’d barely been up five minutes and not that he was liable to faint if Alfred continued speaking.

“It’s just, uh…well, I was talking with Seven and he mentioned I might’ve been a bit insensitive.” Alfred failed utterly to understand the effects of his actions sometimes, particularly in social situations, so it was a bit of a shock to hear him recognize anything amiss. “So I just wanted to…apologize, you know, if I said anything that angered you. About you not being fun or social or something of that nature.”

Arthur just stared at him and took a moment to shift the pillow behind him by way of something to occupy himself.

“I’m not mad,” he said at last. “I wasn’t then, not at you. I was just annoyed with the whole situation. You know I don’t like parties.”

“I know,” Alfred replied. “It’s just you’ve seemed…I don’t know, I thought you might still be put out with me.” Arthur continued to stare at him; it was too early to be dealing with these heavy issues and the delicate string of lies he was already having to concoct because of that empty-headed pervert.

“I’m not,” he said bluntly after a moment. “I’ve just been busy.”

“You sound a little mad.”

“Because you woke me up and now you’re accusing me of being mad and I’m not mad!” Arthur snapped. They were both quiet for a moment as Arthur realized that had not been the best response to convince Alfred that he wasn’t mad. He pinched the bridge of his nose and Alfred snickered quietly.

“If you say so,” he said. “If you aren’t mad, I thought you might like to help Lukas plan the New Years’ gala.”

“I thought we had _just_ reestablished that I don’t like parties,” Arthur said, shifting his knees.

“Exactly, so I thought if you got to help plan it you might enjoy it more!” Alfred’s cheery smile and eager blue gaze suggested he genuinely believed this was the solution. Arthur let out a sigh and rubbed the space between his eyes.

“Fine. I wasn’t aware that party-planning had become Lukas’ job, but I shall offer what help I can,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Great!” Alfred brought his hands together with a brilliant smile. “That’s perfect! I will let him know!”

“Now get out of my room, please,” Arthur said, pointing to the door as he flopped back onto the bed. “I need to get dressed.” And calm down. Alfred gave a hasty nod.

“I’ll see you at tea time,” he said, walking briskly out of the room. Arthur doubted that; half the time Alfred forgot about tea time and the other half he spent the whole time bouncing one knee and looking towards the door because there was something he’d been doing that he wanted to get back to. When he was actually working, it was nearly impossible to get him out of his train of thought.

Arthur let out a sigh when Alfred was gone from the room. He got up to get dressed, making a valiant and stubborn attempt to ignore his body’s arousal (at least the talk with Alfred had helped him cool off). Instead, he wondered how Ace Lukas felt about being reduced to party-planning. At one point, the Ace had been the head of all things magical in the kingdom, but Jack Yao, who had been in office as long as either Arthur or Alfred could remember (a staggering forty years, at least!), had absorbed a number of tasks Arthur was sure had not originally been part of the Jack’s job. But Yao acted with precise efficiency and incredible effectiveness, so no one asked many questions.

“I wonder if it’s too late to back out of this and leave Lukas to his fate,” Arthur muttered to himself as he called a valet in to try to tame his hair, a task they tried and failed at most mornings. He moved the vase of flowers closer to the sunlight as he sat down. “Poor sod. At least I get a crown.”

***

“Oh, and Francis,” Lili added as she reached for the butter dish to treat her bread, “we have received an invitation from the Kingdom of Spades.”

“Spades? What for?” Francis asked, pausing to look up at her. As soon as she mentioned it, he thought of Arthur, as much as he tried to push the thought from his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, if Arthur still thought of him. It had been three months since the Hearts’ beginning of fall masquerade.

“Their gala celebrating the New Year,” Lili replied, nibbling on her bread. A servant stepped up from behind her to refill her goblet with her preferred rose wine.

“Ah yes, of course,” Francis said, shaking his head. Spades threw a New Years’ gala every year. If he wasn’t so foggy in the head where they were concerned these days, he’d have remembered that! “Send them our acceptance, will you, my lady?” Lili nodded.

“I will be overseeing spice-packing this afternoon but I’ll get it out today,” she promised.

“Then we can see about getting something tailored for the party,” Francis went on, seeming pleased with this opportunity.

“Francis, we just had new things made for the Hearts’ masque,” Lili protested, looking up at him.

“And? This is a new party, my lady, that means new outfits,” Francis told her with a smile as he plucked a strawberry from his plate. Crystallides, the Diamonds palace, was always kept well-supplied with fruit from their plantations, which, being so far south, seldom succumbed to frost or winter weather.

“I don’t think we need new ones _every_ year,” she sighed, averting her gaze. “We almost always go to the Spades New Years’ gala, my lord.”

“My lady, are you saying you don’t _want_ a new dress?” Francis asked, looking practically scandalized. Lili suppressed a little laugh at his expression.

“I just think it is not particularly _necessary_ , my lord,” she responded.

“Are you saying I am too extravagant?” he asked, glancing around. Francis was noted for having very expensive tastes; Lili and he often disagreed about how much needed to be spent on this or that. It was one of the few things they ever genuinely argued about, though Lili rarely put up a fight at all.

“Just a bit, my lord,” she said.

“Why don’t we at least have them sketch something up, and if you decide you don’t like it, we don’t have to get it,” Francis wheedled. This, she supposed was more for his benefit than hers—if she got something new, so would he. And Francis loved getting new things. Lili sighed again.

“Alright, my lord,” she agreed. “You have a tailor in mind?” Francis grinned.

“Of course, my queen,” he said, rising to his feet. “I will see to it when I finish reviewing the farmers’ requests,” he promised.

“Alright,” she said again, tearing a chunk of bread off to eat. “Good luck with the farmers.”

“And you with the spices.” He gave her a polite nod and strode off to go take care of his duties for the day.

When Lili was done with her meal, she went out to the gardens for a bit of fresh air before she joined the cooks and servants to direct the packing of their most recent spice crop for the winter. The gardens had always been a favored spot of the young queen; the tall bushes on the east and west sides of the grounds still towered over her head. Today there were no flowers in bloom though, as they were nearing the winter solstice. Most things were dormant, though some of the stubborn brushes remained green. She was struck suddenly by a memory from her earliest days in the palace:

Francis took her for a walk in the gardens the day before their wedding. A relaxing break, he told her, before they were wed, bed and shipped off to their honeymoon in the south. It couldn’t be long, since Francis was king. Vash would sit the throne while he was away, but just for a week or two.

The thought of her wedding day had made Lili’s stomach twist up in a knot until she felt sick, even though Francis seemed nice enough. He was cheerful and gentle with her, but he was still someone she barely knew, and someone she’d be married to in a very short time. She’d been promised to the royal family of Diamonds since before she was born (it was a great honor for her family to be chosen to bear the queen), but her twelfth year—the agreed upon year for her marriage—had come so soon, it seemed now. Francis was nineteen, but he might as well have been forty to her. The only thing that soothed her was the visions of warm, sunny afternoons that accompanied her thoughts of Francis, and the pleasant dreams she had of their wedding.

Suddenly, amongst the towering bushes, Francis turned to her with an eager smile and said, “I have an idea, let’s play a game.”

“A game?” she echoed, her brow furrowing. She didn’t know kings were allowed to play games. “What sort of game?”

“Hide-and-seek!” Francis replied proudly, as if this were the best idea he’d ever come up with. “You know how to play hide-and-seek, yes?”

“Of course I do,” she said, still looking somewhat confused.

“Let’s play then,” he said, smiling again. “The garden is a perfect place to play. Do you want to hide first?” Lili contemplated only a moment before nodding. “Alright, go hide then,” he said. “I’ll count to fifty, since it’s just you and I playing, good?” Lili nodded again and then hesitantly dashed off through the glossy green leaves and big bright blooms.

Francis had found her quickly the first time. She did have the advantage of being much smaller than him, however, and he was loath to get his clothing dirty, so she didn’t have too much trouble finding him on her turn. The second time he took much longer to track her down.

When they tired of hide-and-seek, they played come-into-my-castle and minotaur-in-the-maze. Lili was a little old for games like this, but she was so anxious lately, they helped soothe her.

“I didn’t know kings got to play games,” she confessed as Francis led her back towards the palace, clinging lightly to his arm.

“Of course they are,” Francis declared. “I am king and you are going to be queen soon—who’s going to tell us we can’t?” He cast a slightly impish smile down at her. A smile tugged at Lili’s lips in return.

“No one, I suppose,” she said. “I just thought—since you’re in charge—when we’re in charge—that it wouldn’t be allowed. Because kings and queens have to be grown-up.”

“Lili.” Francis stopped and moved to stand in front of her. “There is work with being king or queen, but it’s not all so awfully bad. I have a good deal more than you do.” He smiled briefly, then sobered again. “But this is your home too, and you should be able to do what you like in it. You’re going to be queen, and my wife, and that means the palace is yours as much as mine.” He touched the center of her chest, below her collarbone, where her Diamond tattoo was. “You were born to be Queen of Diamonds just as I was born to be King.” Lili had been tattooed at age three, as was custom for the Queen of Diamonds, after it had been determined where her energy flowed strongest.

“I suppose,” she murmured, lowering her head. “I just…don’t feel ready,” she admitted, feeling as though she was letting something heavy and suffocating off her chest by telling him.

“That’s fine,” Francis soothed, crouching down to look better into her face. “You know, I was only a few years older than you when I became king. I didn’t feel ready either,” he confided. “And I was quite sick at the time too. But you will learn, my lady. I’ll be there to help you, and the queen mother too, and Vash.” She nodded again, quietly fortifying herself. This was her destiny, it had been since the beginning. She’d do her very best and no one could ask more of her.

“I will be a good queen,” she promised Francis, looking determined. “We’ll be good rulers. Won’t we?”

“Of course, my lady,” he said, straightening up and offering her his arm.

That had been seven years ago. Seven years she’d been married…what a strange thing to think. Lili trailed towards the tall bushes, suddenly away in nostalgia. Francis hadn’t bedded her the next night.

“I won’t touch you until you want me to,” he’d said, when he’d come into her room and seen how frightened she was. Instead, they’d pricked her hand to squeeze a few drops of blood onto the sheets, to sate the curiosity of servants and nobles alike, and then they’d gone to sleep, as chastely as brother and sister.

As their marriage wore on, they felt more and more that sibling relationship, and neither of them developed any desire to sleep with the other. Francis slept in her room every so often, so as not to arouse the suspicion of the court with a king who never visited his wife’s chambers, but nothing ever happened.

There were whispers, Lili knew, that the king was impotent, as there had been not even the quickening of a child in her womb. Those stung Francis’ pride, she could tell, but he didn’t betray them. He’d made a promise to her and he wouldn’t renege on it.

Francis’ many affairs were no secret to Lili; they had come to a policy of honesty years ago and Lili didn’t mind, so long as didn’t favor his paramours over her in court. There was her position to think about.

 The old stone bench was smooth and cool against her stockings as she sat down, taking in the carefully tended Diamonds gardens.

Sometimes she wondered if Francis regretted not being able to choose his own bride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear Alfred is hella ace  
>  
> 
> [On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/145474733910/heavy-is-the-crown-ch-2)


	4. The Flames Ignite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Francis attends the New Years' gala held by the Kingdom of Spades and Arthur tells himself he doesn't care.

“Are you ready yet?” Alfred was trying to be subtle, but Arthur could see him shifting around and pacing with impatience at his door, as he had been for the past twenty minutes.

“Have a modicum of patience for once, will you?” Arthur was busy fussing completely unnecessarily with his cravat and the hat he was wearing that night. To tell the truth, he just wanted to avoid going downstairs, because he knew Francis would be there, and he didn’t want to see him. The idea of having to entertain a conversation with Francis and Alfred at the same time was mortifying and Arthur gave some consideration to flinging himself down the steps on the way there so as to have an excuse not to go.

“But you’ve been in here for two hours!” Alfred whined.

 “A king should have more patience,” Arthur said flatly without looking over; it was his “teacher” voice. Alfred hated it.

“A queen shouldn’t keep his king waiting so long,” he grumbled under his breath, stubbing the toe of his shoe against the ground, unwilling to actually pick a fight with Arthur.

At last, Arthur had no more reasons, even exaggerated worries, to keep meddling with his appearance and wordlessly walked out of the room to go.

“Finally!” Alfred perked right back up and gave Arthur his arm to lead him down to the gala. _You don’t even have to speak to him_ , Arthur reminded himself, firming up his nerves. It would be foolish and beneath him to let the King of Diamonds psyche him out. He focused his gaze on the small roses carved into the floor molding as Alfred led him along, refusing to allow Francis to unsettle him any further. The King of Diamonds had arrived earlier that day, and Alfred had greeted him, but Arthur had excused himself on pretense of making last-minute arrangements for the gala. But he’d had time to collect himself now and he was going to face this with the grace and ease that befitted a queen.

Most of their guests had arrived already, filling the castle’s ballroom with chatter and a rainbow of color, though the colors of the Four Kingdoms were most prominent, as always. Alfred and Arthur were dressed in traditional blue and the Diamonds were always easy to spot, garish splashes of orange amidst the red, green and blue. Arthur scanned the room for Francis, to better avoid him when he left Alfred’s side. There was something uneasy in his stomach when he failed to find the king before entering the crowd.

“The King and Queen of Spades!” shouted the page by the door as they entered. Everyone turned and there was polite applause as Alfred and Arthur made their way into the room. Heavy chandeliers overhead gave what light the setting sun coming through the windows on the right side of the room didn’t, and in the corner a collection of court musicians played, led by Two Berwald. Only when they’d passed the center of the room did Arthur give himself leave to let go of Alfred’s arm, and glance over at the king. His back was stiff. Arthur didn’t have to follow his gaze to know what he was looking at, but he did anyway, and among the patch of green, King Ivan’s tall, silvery top was distinctly absent. He and his wife almost never descended to attend the balls and galas of the southern kingdoms, but the rudeness of his absence seemed to rub Alfred the wrong way, in light of his bickering with the king. Ivan hadn’t even sent his Ace, just a handful of nobles who probably asked to go anyway.

“Don’t look at them like that,” Arthur muttered to Alfred. “You can’t be surprised.”

“I’m continually surprised by the King of Clubs,” Alfred growled. “And his way with offending everyone he interacts with. And not in a funny way, like you.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur demanded, but Alfred was already walking away. Annoyed, Arthur swept away to go speak with Queen Kiku, who had come alone this time, King Ludwig being too busy to attend. Despite the chill, his rich costume displayed his Hearts mark just above his bellybutton, surrounding it with lace and a gauzy, transparent fabric over it.

“Queen Kiku.” Arthur gave him a slight bow. “You honor us with your presence, as always.”

“Queen Arthur.” Kiku bowed in return. “It was my pleasure. My husband begs apologies for his absence; matters of state call his attention.” Arthur waved a hand.

“It’s no matter, kings are always busy,” he said. “I noticed you had planted new bleeding hearts when I was at your masque…” Kiku and Arthur were on reasonably friendly terms, and they both were attentive to the gardens of their respective kingdoms, so it was a topic they enjoyed discussing. However, Ludwig and Alfred often did not see eye-to-eye, and Kiku never faltered in his loyalty to his king, whether he believed Ludwig was right or wrong, so there was occasionally tension between the queens.

It was at least an hour before Arthur noticed the King of Diamonds lingering in a conversation circle nearby, making a subtle effort to get Arthur’s attention. His heart flung itself against his ribcage in a way that was almost painful and he swallowed hard, forcing his attention away. Francis was the last person he wanted to talk to right now and he ought to _know_ better than to be trying to talk to Arthur.

In a whole other world of the party, Nine Yong Soo and Alfred were discussing the slight of the Kingdom of Clubs.

“But can you really be surprised he didn’t come?” Yong Soo was saying to Alfred as they hung around the edge of the ballroom. “Maybe things are better without him.”

“What do you mean?” Alfred asked the Nine.

“I mean, if he were here, he might only cause trouble,” Yong Soo pointed out. Alfred considered this for a moment and then blew a sigh out his nose.

“Still, if he had come, he thought the event was worth attending, even to cause trouble,” he said. “Sometimes I think no one actually sees me as the king,” he muttered, glancing briefly around to be sure Yong Soo was the only one in earshot.

“That’s not true, Spades loves you!” Yong Soo disagreed. “And Arthur thinks—”

“Arthur thinks I’m a child,” Alfred interrupted. “He doesn’t…” Alfred looked around again and then blurted out, as if he might lose the nerve, “He doesn’t respect me. I don’t need him to treat me like a king all the time, but sometimes it feels like he’s constantly judging me and thinking he could do a better job running the kingdom.”

“I’m sure he does not think that,” Yong Soo tried to soothe him. “Queen Arthur simply finds it hard to express affection. And he did grow used to running the kingdom on his own.”

“I suppose,” Alfred said, always willing to give his queen the benefit of the doubt. Still, he frowned. “But I wish he would listen to me more.”

“Give it time, I’m sure things will get better!” chirped the Nine cheerfully.

The Queen of Spades determinedly ignored Francis for another hour until Francis gave up on subtlety, marched up to Arthur and asked him for a dance. Arthur’s nose wrinkled as he looked at the man bowing before him and offering a hand (the way Francis had said ‘Your Majesty’ the morning after their coupling echoed unbidden in his mind).

“What are you thinking, you obtuse fool?” he growled under his breath, resisting the urge to swat the man’s hand away. “Get away from me before you cause us both trouble.”

“You’re the one making a scene,” Francis said, straightening up. He did withdraw his hand though. Tonight he was resplendent in the traditional colors of his kingdom, which accented his complexion nicely, making him look like the ancient god of the sun stepped down into the human realm for a night. Arthur nearly beat his forehead against the stone wall to knock that particular line of poetry out of his head.

“Because you are being so unbelievably stupid,” Arthur accused quietly, stepping away to grab a drink, in order to make it look as if he were doing something besides talking to Francis. “Have you no sense of shame?” Francis just shrugged and followed him.

                “I asked for a dance, not…anything untoward.” The lascivious tone of his voice as he trailed off made Arthur sure he wasn’t _forbidding_ such requests. Arthur took a low, deep breath to calm the rapid beat of his heart.

                “I don’t care, the fact that you are asking for anything is obscene!” Arthur didn’t realize until they’d stepped out onto the balcony that Francis had either herded him there by following him, or he’d unconsciously been trying to escape the crowd (and Francis with it).

                “You make it sound much worse than it was,” Francis remarked, though he at least had the grace to glance away, and prove that he recognized they hadn’t acted in their best interests that night.

                “I am _married_ ,” Arthur hissed furiously. “ _You_ are married! This is insane; leave me at once.” Francis tensed to go, but then paused.

                “Do you love him?” he asked. The angrily confused look on Arthur’s face suggested he might bowl Francis over the edge of the balcony for making him actually think about this question.

                “What?”

                “Your husband, Alfred. Do you love him?” Francis repeated.

                “What kind of a preposterous question is that?” Arthur replied, scowling. “Marriage is not about _love_ , you twit. It’s about the kingdom.”

                “Humor me,” Francis requested.

                “I will not, I have no obligation to sate your inane curiosities,” Arthur said firmly. “Now _leave_ , before I am forced to take up a dance with some other fool just to escape your wretched company.” He was half surprised when Francis went without another word.

                _Do I love him,_ Arthur thought derisively. _What an asinine question_. It wouldn’t matter if he hated Alfred with all his heart, they were wed for better or for worse. Their fates had been decided from their birth, marked on their very skin for all to see. He wandered over and leaned against the railing, looking out over the castle grounds. _Do I love him_ …Truthfully, Arthur knew the answer was no, at least, no in the way Francis as asking. A marriage based on love…that had never been in the cards for Arthur.

                _What would I have chosen?_ He wondered suddenly. If the choice had been his to make. _Who would I have married?_ Who would he have fallen in love with, given the chance? He didn’t know. He ran the nobles through his head and he couldn’t think of one he’d chose now, if he could. What would he even _want_ from a love partner? A chilly wind blew over him, tugging at his suit coat. _Someone intelligent_ , he thought _. Quick-witted. Reasonable. Willing to make the relationship a team effort. Someone…_ He thought of Francis’ teasing remarks about treating him like a king. Arthur couldn’t even make himself think the words, it was too embarrassing, but if it were his choice…he’d want someone who made him feel valuable. Since Alfred had taken the throne, Arthur had struggled with suddenly taking the backseat in a government he had ruled fairly competently for two years. Sometimes, particularly early on, he felt brushed aside. He hated that.

                “This wallowing is unbefitting of a queen,” he told himself aloud. “And it’s pointless.” He knocked back his goblet of mead and went back inside.

***

                Francis could tell Arthur was ignoring him. He supposed he wasn’t surprised, and if he were honest with himself even _he_ knew he was playing the fool by trying to get the Queen of Spades’ attention after their last meeting. But he couldn’t stop himself anyway; watching Arthur glide around, stiff-backed and proud as ever, looking oh-so-bored by Alfred’s side, he wanted the chance to run his fingers through Arthur’s hair again, to goad him to fighting just beneath the veneer of civility, even just to hear the sound of his voice again.

                He had hoped Arthur felt somewhat the same, but perhaps it was best he didn’t, Francis thought as he walked away from his failed conversation attempt. If Arthur rejected him outright, it meant there could be no continuation of this folly. Arthur was, in a way, saving Francis from himself, albeit unintentionally.

                Nevertheless, it was disappointing. Francis found other people to dance with, even turned a few with the King of Spades.

                “I hear the winter’s been hard,” Francis remarked as he took the lead for a dance. “I hope everything is well among your people.”

                “They’ll get through,” Alfred said. “They always do, they’re very resilient. It’s nothing too bad.” Even if it was, Alfred wouldn’t say so, not even to his ally Francis. A king would never betray weakness in his kingdom. An ally could turn foe very quickly if they thought there was a chance for conquest. “We have stores saved up for times like this.”

                “That’s good, planning ahead is always useful,” Francis said, nodding sagely. “I’m glad to hear you are prepared.”

                “How has your winter been?” Alfred asked. “Nothing catastrophic, I’m sure.” A smile passed over his youthful face. He’d shot up like a weed since taking the throne; already he was almost as tall as Francis.

                “No, nothing too bad,” Francis agreed with an easy smile in return. “It’s always rather warm. If you come visit, we’d be glad to share some fresh fruit.”

                “I might have to come then,” Alfred said with a touch of longing. “We won’t have much of that until spring.”

                “You’re always welcome, Your Majesty,” Francis said breezily. He bowed out after their third dance and went to schmooze and drink. The rest of the night passed as most parties tended to, but Francis found himself strangely bored and impatient. There was nothing different about this night, except that in light of Arthur’s rejection, everything else seemed painfully dull and tiresome. He caught glimpses of the Queen of Spades around the hall for the rest of the evening, but he obeyed Arthur’s earlier request and kept his distance, never making another attempt to talk to the queen.

                After forcing himself to stay longer than he wanted, he excused himself early and retired to his room. There would be plenty of other balls to socialize at; tonight he was no longer in the mood for it.

                The room the Spades had given him was spacious enough, with lovely tapestries on the pale mud-colored walls, and a broad four-poster bed. The three small windows on the wall across from the door overlooked a pond dotted with lilies and a copse of trees beyond. With a sigh, Francis loosened his cravat and pried his shoes off, kicking them aside to go sit on the bed. He found himself half wishing Lili were here, to see how well he was behaving: Going to bed early, alone, not pursuing Arthur any further. _Someone_ ought to appreciate how good he was being.

                There was no one, though, but a servant who stopped by to make sure he had everything he needed. He sent the boy away and undressed, deciding he might as well review some of the proposals Lili had sent him with, in the hopes he might get some work done on the carriage ride over and back.

                A couple hours later, it was decidedly dark outside, and the bed seemed more and more preferable to continuing to work. He’d stripped down to just a typical flowing white shirt and black breeches with stockings to keep his feet warm (every time he accidentally set a foot off the carpet he regretted it). Eventually he couldn’t make himself focus on the documents anymore and moved to a more comfortable seat with a book instead.

                When the door was unexpectedly flung open, Francis’ candle had grown so dim he had to lean forward to catch a glimpse of who had just entered his room. Uncrossing his legs, he got to his feet and grabbed the candle.

                “Who--?”

                “Shh,” came the urgent reply. A few more steps forward and the candlelight revealed the hooded, light-lashed green eyes of the Queen of Spades, who’d shut the door behind him. Francis’ words caught oddly in his throat; no matter why Arthur was here, this visit, at this hour, alone, was highly improper and irregular.

                “Arth—?”

                “Shh,” he repeated, giving Francis a pointed look. He stepped closer and Francis could see a gleam in his eyes, and the way he was breathing faster than usual. “Stay quiet,” he murmured.

                “What are you doing here?” Francis whispered, putting the candle down.

                “I’m making bad choices,” Arthur muttered. Francis’ eyes strained in the dim light to see more of Arthur’s face. “What does it look like I’m doing?” The queen’s breathing was audible as he reached out and put his hands against Francis’ chest; he could feel the warmth of Arthur’s palms through the thin fabric. He hardly dared to move, in case it startled Arthur away. Suddenly his fingers curled up, knotting Francis’ shirt between them. “You knew, didn’t you?” he demanded quietly, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “You knew I wanted you, no matter what I said.”

                “Assumptions and speculations,” was all Francis said in return, watching Arthur with disbelieving fascination. “You asked me to leave you, so I did.”

                “But you didn’t believe it,” Arthur said, tilting his head up and snapping his arresting gaze up to Francis’ placid blue eyes.

                “It wasn’t my place to weigh your words like that,” Francis replied carefully. “You wanted—”

                “I know what I wanted, dammit!” Arthur’s eyebrows knit together in a spark of anger, though Francis had the curious feeling it wasn’t directed at him. “I know what I _want_.” Francis watched the flicker of the candlelight on Arthur’s white throat. “And I know what you want.” Suddenly Arthur lunged forward, crashing his lips against Francis’ in a hungry, brutish kiss that left them both breathless, with stinging lips. He reached out for Arthur at once, but before they found a comfortable place to stand, Arthur was pushing him over to the bed, and down onto it. Francis continued to lean into the kiss as Arthur drew back, letting go of the king to strip off his coat and vest. Francis, leaning back on his elbows on the bed, watched unwaveringly. “Lie down,” Arthur snapped when Francis started to sit up.

                Francis wasn’t protesting in the least, because when Arthur had gotten a first few layers of clothing off, he crawled over Francis and settled across his lap to kiss him again. The weight of Arthur on his groin made Francis’ member immediately stir with arousal. A quiet noise came from the Spade and he pressed harder against Francis, so Francis could feel Arthur’s beginning erection as well. When they broke apart for air, Francis pulled Arthur in close and whispered in his ear: “I want you.”

                “I know,” Arthur said, his breathing starting to come faster again. He kissed Francis hard and pushed him back against the mattress. “Fuck, I know,” he groaned quietly, pushing against Francis’ hips. He didn’t say anything in kind, but some things could be safely assumed by his arrival in Francis’ room.

                Arthur seemed determined to have his way this time: he had no shortage of orders for Francis to lie down, hold still, take that off, kiss me there, _do that again_. When Francis was naked and fully erect beneath him, Arthur surveyed him for a moment and Francis could just barely see the flush on his cheeks, creeping down his chest, which gave away his rapid breathing. Sweat beaded along his hairline and across his stomach. The king held his gaze without fail as Arthur crept forward, his skin a warm peach shade in the failing light, and slowly settled himself down on Francis’ hips.

                “Ah…” Francis couldn’t stop the soft, breathy groan from escaping his lips, but Arthur didn’t remind him again to be quiet. Arthur’s breathing was slightly shaky, and Francis wondered momentarily if he regretted coming. He pushed himself up enough to get an arm around Arthur and kiss him with a good deal more tenderness than the queen had shown tonight. Gently, he rolled his hips up and felt Arthur’s nails dig into his side in response, heard the softest of whines die in his throat. “I want you,” he reminded Arthur in an intimate whisper, rubbing the Spade’s back with one hand.

                “I know,” Arthur repeated, but this time his voice was different. He sounded almost reassured, quietly pleased to hear Francis say it.

                “So take me,” Francis murmured against his lips as he leaned in to kiss the Spade. “I’m yours.” A shudder went through Arthur and he pressed a hand against Francis’ chest, nestling his fingers among the tight blond curls of hair, to nudge Francis back down before he started to move.

                The candle guttered out just before they finished and they came in the dark. The room felt warmer, but Francis couldn’t tell if it was because of their heavy breathing, or if it was just his own temperature. Arthur stilled above him and they both paused to catch their breath. Francis rested his hands on Arthur’s thighs, and rubbed them lightly. He almost wanted to say something, but it didn’t feel like there was anything that ought to be said, nothing more pressing than the peaceful silence. He felt Arthur’s weight shift as he started to get off, and made sure to catch the Spade around the middle and pull him down on the bed with him.

                “What are you doing?” he grumbled as Francis pulled him closer to kiss his neck.

                “If you come to my bed, you can’t just screw and leave,” Francis told him reprovingly, nipping playfully at his shoulder.

                “I can’t _stay_ ,” Arthur emphasized, in case Francis had forgotten this.

                “You can for a little while,” Francis disagreed, his hand sliding down Arthur’s side to squeeze his ass.

                “You are incapable of keeping your hands above my waist, aren’t you?” Arthur sniffed disdainfully, but he didn’t move Francis’ hand away.

                “Bold talk for the one who came into my bedroom and so shamelessly robbed me of my virtue,” Francis said, and Arthur snorted so loudly he glanced towards the door, as though Alfred might burst through it with some preternatural sense that Arthur was cheating on him.

                “That would imply there was virtue to be stolen,” he retorted, poking Francis in the gut.

                “What makes you so sure there wasn’t?” Francis asked in mock offence. Arthur scoffed again.

                “Please. One, you’re married. Two, your reputation far precedes you, _Your Majesty_.” His tone made it clear the title was derisive. Francis just laughed and pinned Arthur lightly against the bed.

                “Alright, I confess, you were not my first.” He kissed Arthur’s neck, resisting the urge to nibble and leave marks. “But if you were, I wouldn’t know as many tricks as I do, hm?” Arthur looked away, but Francis saw more shamed intrigue than scandal on his face. His hand crept down Arthur’s abdomen, but the Spade pushed him away.

                “Not yet, it’s too soon,” he muttered. “You’re insatiable. Don’t you need a break?” Francis shrugged.

                “Not more than a few minutes,” he said. “But I’ll indulge my sweet queen.” He lay back on the sheets and Arthur punched him in the shoulder. “Aie! That was complete uncalled for,” he hissed, rubbing the spot.

                “It was perfectly called for,” Arthur disagreed primly. Silence descended over them and Francis sat up to pull the curtains closed around the bed. Now that they were still and the fire had gone out, the room would be getting colder quickly. When he’d finished, they were blanketed in darkness and he lay back against the pillows.

                “So. You came back,” he began, feeling some measure of discussion on the subject of their extramarital affair was warranted.

                “I don’t want to talk about it,” Arthur said at once. It was too dark for Francis to see even a hint of his expression, but his tone certainly left no room for leeway. He didn’t give up though; Arthur wasn’t the only stubborn one in the room.

                “I feel I deserve something of an explanation,” he said. The only sound was the very faint shifting of the sheets and covers as Arthur moved about.

                “What’s to be explained?” he asked. “I wanted a fuck. You’re better than Alfred. Here I am.”

                “While I am certainly thrilled to be more skilled in bed than your seventeen-year-old husband, I was hoping for a bit more than that,” Francis replied.

                “What? Were you expecting to hear I’d fallen madly in love with you and couldn’t stand another moment out of your company?” Arthur asked mockingly.

                “Not quite, but something more eloquent than wanting a fuck,” Francis admitted.

                “Isn’t that what you wanted?” Arthur asked, hitting a pillow into a more comfortable shape behind his shoulder.

                “Well yes, but more, too.”

                “What more?” Arthur asked, suddenly curious himself.

                “I told you at the Hearts masque: I find you intriguing,” Francis told him with a shrug.

                “That’s no answer!” Arthur said impatiently. “‘Intriguing’ doesn’t mean anything on its own!” Francis chuckled quietly and reached over to draw his hands around Arthur’s back, feeling the cooling skin beneath his fingers.

                “Alright, if you insist. I think you’re very clever,” he said, ducking down to kiss Arthur’s collarbone. “You’re entertaining to argue with. And that temper of yours is quite interesting as well.” He bit down on Arthur’s chest, drawing a soft gasp from the Spade as he twitched on the bed. “And while you seem intolerably difficult to seduce, you’re nevertheless very hungry once I get you in here.”

                “Ha! H-hungry! Compared to you!” Arthur moved as if in a weak attempt to push Francis away.

                “All things in perspective, my dear queen,” Francis purred, finding no source of shame in his promiscuous, lustful behavior. “But admit it…you enjoy having passion. Your life has been too barren without it; you’re bored, you crave excitement. In the darkness of your room at night, you lie awake and dream of wild, thrilling sex with a beautiful stranger and a romantic, classical affair. You’re so repressed you wake every morning with wet sheets.” Arthur’s flailing fist caught Francis in the side of the head and he yelped, earning him another “keep quiet!” from Arthur.

                “If that was some piss-poor attempt to seduce me, I’m embarrassed on your behalf!” Arthur snapped, disliking intensely that Francis came anywhere near some truths.

                “I forget Spades don’t like hearing the truth,” Francis grumbled, rubbing his head. “If that was some attempt at kinky foreplay, I’m embarrassed on _your_ behalf.”

                “I assure you, it wasn’t.”

                “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, you should be grateful.” Francis lay back down, still nursing the left side of his head. Silence again reigned.

                “I hope you don’t feel those last few sentences made the rest of my explanation a jape,” Francis clarified suddenly. “I did mean it.” For a long moment, Arthur didn’t respond.

                “I still think you’re some bizarre sort, to find pleasure in arguing,” he said at last.

                “You can’t say you don’t,” Francis asserted, moving closer to Arthur again. “With how you do it to everyone.”

                “I do not argue with _everyone._ You just happen to be exceptionally irritating.”

                “And exceptionally attractive,” Francis added, wrapping an arm around Arthur. “To you.”

                When Francis started kissing him again in earnest, and Arthur could feel the Diamond’s need, he pushed him back.

                “Stop that,” he said in annoyance.

                “What? Don’t you want it?” Francis asked, surprised.

                “It’s pitch black, we can’t see a thing,” Arthur pointed out. Even so, he could still feel the heat of Francis’ presence right beside him, their legs half-tangled up.

                “So?” Francis kissed Arthur just beneath his jaw, one hand rubbing circles on Arthur’s hip. He took the queen’s hand and guided it between his legs. “You know where I am.” He let go and traced his fingers feather-light up Arthur’s inner thigh, and caught his lips in another kiss.

                “Mm…” Arthur fell silent, throwing himself into Francis’ kisses with abandon. Despite his protests, Francis felt the brush of Arthur’s hardening member against his thigh as they kissed and petted.

                “Come on,” Francis murmured warmly as he kissed the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “Take me, you want to.” They were both heating up again and Arthur’s hand was warm as it ghosted over Francis’ side.

                “One condition,” he whispered. To Francis’ silent question, he said, “Do the thing with your mouth again.” He didn’t need any light to sense the devilish grin on Francis’ face as the king rolled onto his back, tugging Arthur over him.

                “Gladly, Your Majesty,” he breathed, pulling Arthur in for another kiss. “After you take me, I’ll do it until you finish in my mouth.” That was all the convincing Arthur needed to kneel down, Francis’ legs wrapped around his waist, and enjoy him a second time that night, and then receive his desired oral satisfaction, until he had to turn and muffle a scream into one of Francis’ pillows.

                Needless to say, it was quite late by the time he slunk back to his room, leaving Francis passed out happily in his guest room.

***

                Arthur made sure to wake bright and early for breakfast the next morning, even though the languid feeling in his limbs and slight fogginess from having stayed up so late tried to coax him back into bed. Alfred was already up by the time he got down to make sure the table had been set properly, and there was a Heart and a Diamond talking peaceably at one end of the table.

                “Looks good, huh?” Alfred said, perky as a puppy, turning to Arthur as he approached. Arthur reached out to pinch one of the petals of the bouquets sitting on the table between his fingers.

                “I had told them to use roses,” he said, frowning at the lilies. Alfred shrugged.

                “Somebody mentioned lilies so I just told them to use those,” he said. The table had been set, as usual, in the brightest hall of the Spades castle, with great vaulting windows facing the east, to allow the rising sun to light up the room.

                “Hmph. Roses would look better,” Arthur said, taking his seat at the right hand of the table. His dress today was much less formal than for the gala, with a small ruffle on his high-necked top and an embroidered opening on his left shoulder to show his Spade mark.

                Alfred’s white gloves gave the same concession, as always. The tattoo on the back of his hand meant it was easy to display, so it was virtually always being showcased by the neat holes in the backs of his right-handed gloves. In response to Arthur’s criticism, however, Alfred just shrugged again.

                “They’re just flowers,” he said. “It isn’t as if these people have never been here before.”

                “That is no reason not to make sure everything is properly arranged,” Arthur said sharply. “As king and queen, we must always put our best foot forward. There’s no room for margin of error, we are here to show the best of our kingdom and I will have it as it should be.” Alfred had stopped listening somewhere around the beginning of that scolding, and instead turned his attention to the Seven of Diamonds who was walking in, looking bleary-eyed and much like he’d prefer to still be in bed.

                “Matthew!” Alfred strode over to him, looking even more violently upbeat next to the sleepy Diamond. Squinting in annoyance at his abrupt dismissal, Arthur made short work of tuning out Alfred and Matthew’s largely one-sided conversation, instead watching the rising light cast shadows and beams down on the flowers and the glass vases they were in, throwing various shapes onto the white table cloth. Slowly the hall began to fill and sometime around nine Alfred ordered the full meal served. Arthur set down one of the biscuits he’d been nibbling on while waiting, and raised his head in time to see Seven Matthew and King Francis take their seats near his and Alfred’s end of the table. Pointedly, he looked at Matthew only.

                “I do hope Alfred hasn’t completely exhausted you so early in the morning,” he commented.

                “No…it’s quite alright, we hardly ever see each other face to face so…” Matthew trailed off, making a noble effort not to yawn at the breakfast table. It wasn’t likely he’d say anything critical of the king though, even one as lighthearted as Alfred. “It’s nice to talk.”

                Throughout the meal, Arthur got the distinct impression that Francis was barely suppressing a smirk every time he looked in Arthur’s direction, and if the queen wasn’t so focused on making sure he never once looked directly at Francis, he’d kick him. The bloody idiot was going to give them away in a heartbeat! Fortunately, if Arthur kept his head in the right position, the nearest vase of lilies blocked Francis’ face most effectively.

                It wasn’t until Matthew and Alfred were deeply engaged in conversation again that Francis had the gall to simply move the vase out of the way, to sit in front of Matthew (earning a “Matthew? Where’d you go?” from Alfred when he turned back to the Seven), and give Arthur a look that was far too even after how he’d moaned as Arthur rode him the night before. There was no justifying how calm and reasonable his eyes looked after the fire that had been in them.

                “Did you choose the flowers?” he asked pleasantly, grabbing one of the soft petals and dragging his thumb down it.

                “Not quite,” Arthur said stiffly.

                “Pity. Lilies are my favorite,” he replied with an infuriatingly conversational little smile.

                “Pity you feel free to manhandle our decorations. This was centered.” Arthur grabbed the vase and moved it back, so that Francis’ face was once more obscured by purple-veined flowers.

                “What a great coincidence,” Alfred butted in, looking uncomfortable with the way his queen had spoken to the King of Diamonds, but unwilling to scold him in front of others. Arthur might snap at him in front of the others. “We grow lots of lilies by the pond.”

                “How lovely,” Francis said, and to Arthur his voice sounded like a panther pacing around its oblivious prey. “I shall have to see them sometime.”

                “Some other time,” Arthur added sharply. “There isn’t time before our guests start departing.”

                “Thank you, everyone, for coming!” Alfred called suddenly, jumping to his feet almost as if he’d been startled. There was a slow silencing of the clamor at the table as people realized the King of Spades was addressing them. Arthur tensed slightly, watching him; Alfred had often fumbled or misspoken trying to speak publically in the past and so Arthur had grown wary of allowing him to make impromptu speeches (or indeed, speeches of any kind). Alfred was visibly nervous looking down the long table, with everyone waiting to hear what he had to say, but he found a way to continue. “It was very nice to have all of you with us to bring in the New Year! It’s always been a Spades…tradition to host this breakfast dance gala!” Arthur let out a quiet sigh and resisted the urge to rub his eyes. The problem was that Alfred was thinking of too many things at once, and what made sense to him often did not to others. “So we appreciate your…patronage and uh, we hope you enjoy the food and wine and everything else and come back next year!” Blessedly, Alfred kept it short and then took his seat again as others raised their goblets in agreement.

                After breakfast, those who were leaving that day departed to gather their things and direct their servants. Francis had his own carriage loaded up. Alfred and Arthur bid everyone goodbye after breakfast, so they didn’t hang around the courtyard to wish everyone off. Arthur went to one of the studies to read, and from the window he could see the people preparing their carriages amongst the variety of flowers in splashes of blue nearly encircling the drive.

                Francis and Kiku drew together in front of the golden royal carriage of Diamonds, and had some short conversation before Francis went to take his leave. He paused and glanced back at the castle and for a moment Arthur had the heart-stopping fear that Francis was looking right at him, but the blond showed no sign of recognition, and disappeared into his carriage a moment later. It rolled out not long after, headed back to the Diamonds capitol in Diamandis.

                “You still need to work on your speeches,” Arthur told Alfred later that day, when he found the king practicing swordplay with their master of weapons.

                “I hadn’t been planning on making a speech,” Alfred replied, swinging the two-handed blade down towards the master of weapons, who parried and spun to the side.

                “A king should always plan to address his guests at least once,” Arthur instructed him. Alfred sighed and lowered his blade. His glasses had been left aside and he was dressed down to his undershirt for the work.

                “I wish you wouldn’t speak so harshly to the other monarchs,” he said bluntly. Arthur’s jaw nearly dropped.

                “Excuse me?”

                “The King of Diamonds in particular,” Alfred plowed on, twisting the tip of his sword into the dirt. “Yao always says how important diplomacy is and…I know Francis is our ally, but if you really offend him, it wouldn’t be good.”

                “I should hope you and Yao both know how aware I am of our diplomatic relations,” Arthur replied stiffly, grasping his hands behind his back. “I am more than capable of understanding what is appropriate at a given situation and how to behave amongst other royals. Furthermore,” he continued, silencing Alfred’s attempt to back out of the topic altogether, “having been on the throne longer than you, and ruled quite well in your absence, I am entirely without need of the advice of a boy. It is not up to you to lecture me about the merits of diplomacy.” Sufficiently cowed, Alfred lowered his head and nodded.

                “Yes, my queen,” he said, not looking at Arthur. “I was just trying to make sure we keep the Diamonds in our good graces.”

                “Yes, well perhaps you should put more time into your writing,” Arthur said, earning a loud groan from Alfred, who covered an ear with his free hand. Alfred’s ability to read and write had been a long source of contention between them; no one in the castle had forgotten the yelling and screaming that had come from Arthur trying to teach Alfred. The boy had a talent for figures, which, Arthur informed, was completely worthless for a king. His reading and writing, however, were abysmal and no matter how many times Arthur explained something, Alfred seemed incapable of reproducing it, finally ending in Arthur forfeiting teaching Alfred. The castle was much more peaceful after that, but Alfred was on his own (often turning to Yao) for learning those things.

                “Alright, alright, I won’t say anything else,” he whined. “Say whatever you want to Francis, see if I care.” Arthur excused himself for a meeting with Seven Xiao Chun and Alfred went on practicing his swordplay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's my headcanon that Alfred is dyslexic (in this fic and in canon) and that's why he hates reading and writing. But of course, at this time no one knew what that was so Arthur just thought he was stupid or not paying attention to his lessons.
> 
> [On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/146855892800/heavy-is-the-crown-ch-4)


	5. Promises are Sworn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to disengage with Francis after the mistakes of the last gala, but he finds it more difficult than anticipated.

Arthur spent the next several days debating what to do about the rather serious problem he’d created by fucking the King of Diamonds and making him think he was interested in him. Even Arthur struggled to make himself believe that ridiculous phrasing of his issue, but he refused to think about it long enough to realize he didn’t believe in it. Instead, he decided the only thing to do was to write Francis and tell the man never to speak to him again.

                _I realize I gave you a distinctly incorrect impression when you last visited,_ he wrote. _This was a most grievous error on my part and I apologize for any confusion it may have caused. I want to be quite clear that under no circumstances do I ever plan to replicate the events previous, nor should you attempt to do so. There will be no more correspondence between us outside what is required of diplomacy. Please be advised I find your company strongly objectionable at best and most tolerable when you are not speaking._ Arthur barely stopped himself from using the phrase ‘when your mouth is occupied with something else’ because he knew exactly how Francis would read that (which was certainly not what Arthur was thinking when he thought of it!). _Therefore, it would be unwise to bother making any attempt to change my mind, which is utterly set._

                When he felt he’d elaborated enough on how much he did not want to be contacted again, he finished with: _No reply necessary. Cordially, Arthur._ The first time he’d written the letter, he botched it by signing his full name and title out of habit, so he had to copy the whole thing over again. No sense attaching himself to this in case it was caught by someone who wondered what ‘events’ he was referring to.

                Satisfied that this would put an end to the whole affair, and that he’d never have to hear from Francis again, he quickly tied the letter up and sent it off. Problem solved.

                When he had dealt with that, he went out to the gardens for a bit of fresh air; he felt he needed it after having to compose such a serious letter. The unpleasantness gnawing at his stomach, he figured, was guilt about having ever necessitated the writing of such a letter. A visit to his rose gardens would calm him though, he thought as he strolled towards the bushes.

                “Roses would have looked better,” he muttered to himself as he touched one of the crisp yellow flowers, thinking of the ruinous lilies at the New Years’ gala breakfast. “Lilies on a breakfast table…” How ridiculous.

***

                Francis realized Arthur’s letter was intended to be serious, but to him it read like a comedy. Arthur was like the Twil wind in the western Rubite province—blowing hot one day and cold the next. It would have been bothersome if Francis didn’t find it so entertaining. One moment he was stripping himself down on Francis’ bed, the next telling him to get lost. He wasn’t sure if Arthur was trying to convince Francis or himself that he wasn’t interested in any kind of relationship.

                _My dear Queen,_ he replied. _Please be assured I didn’t find your behavior confusing in the slightest. Rather, it seems to me that you are the one confused. However, I consider myself a patient man, and I will wait for you to sort things out. I do hope you aren’t experiencing a late wave of regret about your actions, for I found them singularly delightful. I understand you don’t consider yourself the most sociable of people, which is true, but this sort of self-imposed isolation is really not necessary; until such a day as you mortally offend me, I see no reason our correspondence cannot continue._

                Rather than dwelling on Arthur’s attempted rejection, Francis then went on to chatter conversationally about business in Diamonds, about how he’d spent the rest of the New Years’ gala, about how wonderful the theatre was lately. The letter was two pages long by the time he rolled it up and sent it out to Spades.

                Francis was not terribly concerned about the potential consequences of writing to Arthur. He was a king, he did as he wanted and dealt with the consequences later. He did burn the letter from Spades, because he had no wish to cause unnecessary trouble by leaving it to be found, but it never crossed his mind to _not_ reply. It would be rude to ignore Arthur’s letter, after all!

***

                _While I am pleased, of course, to hear that Diamonds is doing well, I do believe you missed the entire purpose of my last letter,_ Arthur replied stiffly, not even bothering to address the preposterous claim that he was “confused”. _The message was to cease contact and put out of your mind our past encounters, for they shall remain only in the past. Please be advised NOT to reply to this letter, as all that needs to be said has been said._

_Most sincerely,_

_Arthur_

_***_

_My dear Queen,_

_Rest assured, I didn’t misconstrue the meaning of your first letter in the slightest. It serves, I assume, the same purpose as your scathing speech to me on the night of the New Years’ gala: To convince yourself that you are uninterested in knowing me and that our prior trysts have had no effect on you whatsoever._ The smirk was audible in Francis’ letter. _It was much more convincing the first time, not to mention more dignified. As it rests, if you wish to lie better, you ought to take lessons from me._

_***_

_At this point, I must conclude you are either illiterate, alarmingly stupid or exceptionally rude._ Arthur couldn’t hold back his scathing tone this time. _I have now written you twice with requests that you put an end to all contact with me. As you continue to ignore them, I have no choice but to cut off contact myself. I hope for the sake of your wife that you listen better to those in your presence, as right now I would rank you somewhere between a cat and a disobedient serving boy. I would also advise you to put any memory of past contact between us out of your mind, as it shall never be discussed again. Additionally, I will demand you drop such informal appellations as you use to address my letters. This is my last request for a cessation of communication between us._

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur_

_***_

_My lovely Queen,_

_But if I recall, you are quite fond of cats, are you not? You admire their independence spirit, no? I truly am trying my best to believe you, but I fail to divine any truth in your letters. You may protest as vehemently as you wish; I still suspect that on your next visit to Diamonds, I would again be disturbed by a surprise visitor to my chambers, and after you had sated yourself with my body you would again feel assured you wished no further contact between us. I am doing you the courtesy of foregoing that nonsense and just admitting upfront that my letters are not as loathsome as you would make them out to be. After all, you have kept replying._

_***_

_I simply CANNOT stand by while you continue to ignore my BLATANT requests. I demand at once that you send no further letters here!_

_***_

_Should I then make requests of you before I send any letters to King Alfred?_

_***_

_How does Queen Lili put up with you?_

_***_

_My dear Queen,_

_Today we saw a stunning ballet and it took place largely in a forest, driving me to wonder how your garden is fairing. Spring is on the approach, no?_

_***_

_My garden is doing quite well, though it’s really none of your business. The crocuses are readying their blooms and the roses beginning to green. There’s nothing more relaxing than walking in a garden, and I have the loveliest garden of all._

_***_

                Somehow, gradually, Arthur’s demands for silence became less and less a part of his letters as Francis wheedled him to talk about anything: his garden, life in the court of Spades, his family. It wasn’t until late April Arthur realized they were merely keeping up personal contact with no more serious attempts to put an end to the discussion. He was even able to handle that though, as he’d become accustomed to it over the past several months, until a particular phrase Francis included in one letter: _I wish you were here with me._ It was innocuously tucked between a discussion of a particularly clumsy serving girl and the death of a palace horse, but it was there all the same, and expressed what neither of them had yet dared to say aloud.

                Arthur’s feet went cold when he read it and the rest of the letter became a blur; he could focus only on that one line. How was he supposed to respond to that? After a good hour of internal debate, he wrote back and simply ignored the one line.

***

                Francis wasn’t overly surprised that Arthur just skimmed over his attempt to emotionally reach out to him, aside from sharing private concerns and complaints about various people and events in their lives. Still, he nibbled his lower lip reading the reply and wondered if he’d overstepped some boundary. No…no, the boundaries between them were far more blurred than that.

But he found himself discontent with these casual letters. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t always look forward to getting one from Arthur, but there was a distinct feeling of skirting around the real meaning of them that he had grown weary of. He wanted to know if Arthur felt as strongly as he did. So in his next letter, he tried again.

_We had a delegate visit today from Hearts, and I was reminded of our dance at the masque last fall. It lit in me the desire to share another dance with you. Perhaps you would oblige me next time we meet at a party_

That was all he said on the matter before returning to their usual conversations, assuring Arthur that he too, had spent hours having to copy and recopy punishment lines under the instruction of his tutor. But his handwriting was prettier.

***

Again, Arthur agonized over how to respond. As soon as he read it, something in his chest let out a burst of song. Saying that he missed Arthur _twice_ couldn’t possibly be a mistake or a casual remark. He _meant_ it. Still, Arthur wasn’t sure he should or could respond in kind. Reading and re-reading Francis’ big, loopy, curly script, he eventually decided to at least attempt to address the remark.

_Dancing is the purpose of balls. As long as you behave civilly, I see no reason why not._

Even to Arthur, it came off as brusque, not enough to really acknowledge the fact that Francis was reaching out to him. But he didn’t know what else to say without saying too much, and he was always on the side of less is more (and less inclined to result in trouble or a loss of dignity). Unable to find a better way to word it, and unwilling to show any more of his hand, Arthur sent it as it was.

***

Reading Arthur’s reply—having scanned the whole letter for a reply to his one comment—was not terribly reassuring. It was hardly the reciprocation Francis had hoped for or imagined, but then again, Arthur had never come off as very emotionally open. Perhaps the fact that he had addressed the matter at all was a sign. Or perhaps he just felt he couldn’t ignore two blatant mentions of Francis wishing for his company.

He spent two days debating what to say next. Obviously he was worried about scaring Arthur off, but in a fit of recklessness, he thought, why did it matter? Either Arthur wanted the same thing he did and would respond positively, or he didn’t, and then they could stop altogether. There was no point in carrying on like this if Arthur _wasn’t_ interested. If he truly wasn’t, they might settle for friends and nothing more.

_Arthur, I feel I must speak honestly with you, for I would never wish you to feel later I had deceived you or not told the whole truth. The longing in my heart for your presence has not lessened in the slightest; rather, I fear it only grows. To see your face again, hear your caustic voice, feel your hands in mine, would give me such a pleasure. Your conversation is witty and entertaining; there’s no one here at Diamonds quite as fun to argue with. I cannot put from my mind how you looked dancing with the Three of Clubs, nor any more how beautiful you were approaching me clad in nothing but candlelight on the night of the New Years’ gala. You are beautiful, Arthur, someone needs to tell you that and I worry you do not hear it from your partner, charming as he is. I have dreamt many times of your lips on mine, and elsewhere too, and it is my dearest hope you yearn for my company as earnestly as I do yours._

_I understand your caution, and I understand your heart is not as easily opened as mine; these are not faults, merely part of the complex work of art that is you. But if you are willing, dear queen, to open for me, I promise I will not let you fall._

_Yours,_

_Francis_

With his heart pounding in his chest, but an odd sense of relief at having gotten it out, Francis rolled the letter up and sent it, hoping sincerely that it reached Arthur first, and that he was able to respond in like words.

***

Arthur could barely swallow; his throat felt like it had turned to dust. He noticed a treacherous tremor in his hands and he staggered over to an armchair which he fell into, clutching Francis’ letter. That _man_ , that damnable man! Who wrote such a thing as this to a married man? A _queen_? Who had the audacity?

Francis, of course Francis, who waxed and waned in maudlin prose about love and fate and soul mates. Who believed in love at first sight and still sighed over girls he’d kissed when he was thirteen. Who seemed determined to throw all propriety and sensible caution to the wind for the sake of getting Arthur’s attention. Francis, who Arthur was beginning to feel, was going to be the death of him.

He took deep breaths and dared to look at the letter again. The part about Alfred stung slightly; it was true and he doubted it would ever not be true. Alfred was six years younger and utterly uninterested in a romantic or sexual relationship with his husband. The rest…never in his entire life had anyone spoken to Arthur as Francis did there.

Arthur was not a beautiful man. He wasn’t very tall, and he was bony and skinny, but prone to putting on a paunch if he ate too many sweets. His jaw was square and stern, his features pinched and sharp. The pair of eyebrows that sat hunched over his narrow eyes probably could have kept him warm in a blizzard, and above that, there was the bird’s nest of coarse, straw-blond hair. His expression was usually displeased and his skin was as white as thick paste, with vague pink flushes here and there.

But Francis spoke of him as if he were something desirable, something that belonged in one of Francis’ collections of beautiful trophies. Arthur did not consider himself sentimental, and he’d certainly never spent an inordinate amount of time agonizing over his appearance (he was sure Francis had spent more, and he hardly had reason), but even if he accepted a lifetime of being utterly plain, of being without love or sex, to hear someone speak of him as Francis did…

And Francis, whose only visible fault was the crook in his large nose (which, in Arthur’s opinion, served only to keep him from being cookie-cutter attractive, and therefore dull), who could probably make a person swoon just by looking at them. Arthur had not known Francis as a child, but he had seen two portraits in Crystallides, and he knew that Francis had been just as beautiful then: a cherubic little imp with a halo of golden curls over his lovely wide blue eyes, and plump pink cheeks that made other mothers sigh in envy. To say nothing of his ease in social situations, his casual smiles and gentle tones that brought people to lean in closer just to hear him, or that catty, sharp-edged smile right before he verbally destroyed some fool.

Francis thought Arthur was beautiful. Francis _wanted_ him.

It had to end, Arthur told himself in terror. He rubbed his temples, the letter poking out from between his fingers. It had to end now. This was too far, too much. It had to stop.

Arthur took nearly a month to reply to Francis’ letter. He convinced himself he couldn’t, but he could never fully commit. One night he ordered rum brought to his room and indulged himself. He had his travel desk brought out to the gardens and, in a fit of passionate literacy, penned his reply to Francis.

_I do not deserve your honesty, I have lied to you and to myself. I demand this honesty from you, but you have every right to keep it to yourself. Nevertheless, you have provided it, so I shall give you the first honest reply I have on the subject I have been skirting._

_There has scarcely been a deeper longing known to my heart than that of your company._

_You haunt my dreams day and night; I cannot banish from my mind the memory of your lips, your hands, your warmth. I crave your presence in my bed and when I listen to the others at the table speak, they sound to me so very dull. I think of your sweet voice, your goading remarks and relentless quips. There is none your equal in the Sapphire City, nor, should I think, in all the Four Kingdoms. Our latest engagement has only furthered this problem and were Alfred interested in bedding me again, I harbor a great fear it should be your name that comes to my lips._

_Never fear, my besotted king, he has no interest in the sort; he hasn’t touched me since our wedding night._

_I am sure you have bedded a great many men and women, and your reputation suggests as much, but as queen I am expected to remain faithful. Your experiences have been denied me, but even with my lack of knowledge, can understand the exceptionality of our experience. I had never known that pleasure could be so intense. The memory of you beneath me comes at the worst of times and too often in my bedchamber._

_Poets have said all I can on the subject of your eyes and face and body, and I am quite sure you have heard as much in the past, but rest assured, they are extraordinary. You called me beautiful and yet again I accuse you of strange tastes; men like you do not love men like me._

_Yet you profess your interest and in the noble spirit of honesty, I will tell the truth this once: Your absence causes me great upset, and I think of you much too often, and always with longing._

_Do not expect me to speak in such terms again, and do not ask it of me, for I will refuse you. This is your confirmation, your confession, your damnation, whatever you should prefer to call it. It is all you will have. This is what you will get from me, and nothing more. Take heart and despair where you will._

_Arthur_

When he had finished, Arthur felt flushed with heat and his heart was beating as if he’d just run a great distance. There was some sort of wild energy in his chest and he grabbed the letter, reviewed it hastily and rolled it up. He had to send it now, before reason and caution reigned him in. After doing away with the letter, and sending a servant to go collect his desk, Arthur retired to his room, wondering if he hadn’t just made a huge mistake.

***

Francis had to sit down to read the letter after he’d gotten past the first few lines and realized what it was: more than he ever could have hoped for, a thorough, impassioned confession of Arthur’s infatuation with him. His face felt warm and there was excitement bubbling thickly in his gut as he devoured each statement.

At worst, he’d feared his last letter would end in dead silence from the Sapphire City. At best, he’d hoped Arthur might give him some tiny hint he was interested. He had never expected a full depiction of Arthur’s desire. He couldn’t get enough of it, and read the letter at least five times in succession before going back to the most delicious lines to read them again.

To know that he was in Arthur’s thoughts as much as Arthur was in his gave him a thrill unlike any other. To know that Arthur dreamed of his touch, yearned for his presence was like energy injected straight into Francis’ veins. After he’d sent the last letter and received no reply for such a long time, he’d feared he had been wrong, or that he had come on too strong and scared Arthur away. An affair was a tentative thing, especially as Alfred could cause Arthur quite a bit of trouble if he found out. Anxiety and uncertainty had gnawed at the back of his mind as he waited, waited, waited for a reply from over the border.  Now, at last! All his waiting had been worth it; this was more than he’d ever thought he’d get. At least when Arthur committed, he thought, he committed.

The frustrating thing was that even though they had both admitted they wanted to explore the relationship, there was nothing they could really do. They were so far apart; letters were all they’d get until one of them had an excuse to visit the other’s kingdom again.

He took a few days to reply, finding himself too worked up to bother now, and tried to calm the tenor of their past two letters.

_My dear Queen,_

_You have no idea how much joy your last letter gave me. I did indeed take heart, where I had before despaired over your long silence. I worried I had frightened you away, but I should have put more faith in your constitution. Yet to know you feel the same and are so far out of my grasp is a frustration beyond measure; I find myself loathing each mile between us. But there’s nothing to be done for it but wait, so instead I shall tell you a most wonderful story about Eight Angelique’s predilection for fish, as it pertains to an upcoming event, and pretend that instead of being so many, many miles away, you are tucked beside me in bed, as you refused to lie last time I saw you…_

It was perhaps understandable that Francis spent much of the next several weeks fixated on how he might go about finding private time with Arthur in the future. His chambers, of course, were his alone, and might easily be visited by Arthur. However, Arthur would also easily be _seen_ visiting Francis’ chambers. There had to be some discreet way to get him in and out without being noticed.

He poked incessantly around his room, recalling rumors from his childhood that there were old secret passages built into the palace to sneak out the royal family if danger ever presented itself at their doorstep. There _had_ to be one in the king’s chamber, if they existed at all; who was more important to safely whisk away? With a few close calls and only one awkward moment of Lili entering to find Francis slightly out of breath from checking beneath the bed for trap doors, he managed to find a loose section of wall behind a large painting of Diamandis in its very early days. Enough tugging and scraping his nails against the stone (wincing) and grunting got it to grind open a few inches, revealing a pitch-black tunnel.

Hurrying to lock his bedroom door, Francis peeked out to hail a servant and let them know he wasn’t to be disturbed for the next hour. He forced the door open, scratching against the floor, until he could squeeze in. With a lit candle in hand, he stepped in and immediately regretted it.

The place hadn’t been used in God only knew how long; maybe centuries, and in that time, plenty of rats and spiders had decided to make it home. Flailing around as he swatted at cobwebs, Francis immediately exited the tunnel and scoured his room for something he could use to wipe the offending silk trails away. The only mildly useful thing he found was an old handkerchief he didn’t care for, and that would have to do. If he wanted this tunnel for use, he had to investigate it himself. Bracing himself, he went back in.

The tunnel was black as tar, musty as a grandmother’s dirty laundry and had only dirt floors to its name. There were a few other tunnels that branched out from Francis’, but after going a few yards down each, he decided to stick to his main stretch. If it led nowhere useful, he could go back and investigate the others later. As it happened, it opened up into the far left corner of the big dining hall on the first floor, behind a pumpkin orange curtain. The hall was thankfully empty now, and Francis appreciated a few gulps of fresh air before disappearing back underground.

Other tunnels led outside, straight into a hallway, into a study, and one that led up through a trapdoor into the stables, where Francis nearly scared the bejeezus out of a stable boy before ducking back under the floor.

Despite the fact that he was covered in dust and had admittedly given several girlish screams over spiders bigger than his thumb, Francis felt terribly triumphant as he emerged back into his room just under the hour mark he’d given the servants. As he hastily cleaned himself up, he fairly glowed over this success. Now it was just a matter of getting Arthur back over to Diamonds.

***

Francis was sure to let Arthur know about the tunnels in his next letter, and tell him where the ones he’d explored emerged. There was something thrilling in plotting their next meeting, even if Arthur continued to address the subject indirectly.

The next time they could arrange to see each other was for Alfred and Francis’ birthdays. Both of them liked to have parties, though Francis’ were usually more elaborate and glamorous (Arthur had restrictions on how much Alfred could spend on his own party).

At Alfred’s party, they danced and spoke politely (and sometimes not so politely), and in the very early hours of the morning, Francis slipped into Arthur’s room and this time, this time they were both open and unrestricting about their desire for each other. Francis made love to him (he refused to call what Arthur did ‘making love’, it was merely ‘fucking’) until the black sky turned gray and Arthur was too exhausted to do any more. Francis was gone before breakfast and when they ate, they acted as if nothing had ever happened: Arthur was annoyed by Francis and Francis intermittently amused by Arthur, but largely more interested in others at the table. There was something exciting even about that, in having a sweet little secret to hug to themselves.

At Francis’ party, they danced several rounds together and Arthur went to bed quite early, slipping out only a few moments after going in. Francis stayed out much later than usual and came back in a rare tipsy state, though not so much that he missed the nest of blond hair poking out from under his covers, or the clothes folded on the table that were definitely not his. He crawled in and woke Arthur up and kept him that way for some time before Arthur departed, scolding Francis for drinking so much while the king just grinned lopsidedly at him. The next morning at breakfast Francis ignored Arthur almost entirely and the secret felt a little heavier in his pocket.

There were so many fascinating things to learn about Arthur, Francis found. Things they hadn’t even gotten to in their letters, like that he had two brothers and a sister who’d been born first, with no Spade mark, or that his favorite dish was anything with fish, or that he found the rain comforting as much as bothersome. In fact, Francis thought, he would be content to spend years learning all these details about Arthur. He would lie in bed after they were done and ask these questions, and Arthur wondered why.

“But if you _had_ to pick somewhere else to live,” he insisted one night, folding his arms behind his head.

“This is silly, I’m never going to live anywhere else,” Arthur objected.

“But if you could!”

Arthur sighed and slouched down further. He was laying on his side, looking at Francis. “Further west, I suppose,” he relented. “There are some islands, off the mainland. Maybe I would go there.”

“An island?” Francis asked. “Why an island? You wouldn’t have much company.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Arthur said pointedly, raising an eyebrow. Francis pouted.

“How would I come see you if you live on an island?” he asked.

“Learn how to swim.”

“Ass.” Francis took a decorative pillow and hit Arthur with it, resulting in a short wrestling match over it before Arthur jerked it away.

“Well where would _you_ go?” Arthur asked, tossing the pillow aside. “Why am I the only one answering these questions?”

“Because I’m the one asking them,” Francis said with a shrug. “You can ask them too. I would go further south, to the coast. The sun is always out there and the ocean is just beautiful.”

“It would be too hot,” Arthur disagreed, shaking his head. “And the sand would get everywhere!”

“It might be hot sometimes, but it’s cold up here sometimes,” Francis said. “No place is perfect.”

“The beach is impractical,” Arthur declared. “And so are you.”

“And you aren’t any fun!” Francis grabbed another small decorative pillow to hit Arthur, but he caught Francis’ wrist and pinned it down.

“No fun? I’ll show you no fun!” The struggle over the pillow this time had them rolling around in the sheets and breathless with laughter by the time they collapsed, the pillow accidentally flung across the room.

“We lost it,” Francis panted. “What a pity.”

“We have others,” Arthur said, breathing deeply. “I’ll buy you another if I have to.”

“Come give me a kiss and we shall call it even,” Francis bargained. Arthur obliged and then Francis said: “If you wanted to buy me something anyway though, I wouldn’t _object_.”

***

The affair lasted three years.

“This is insane,” Arthur said, sometime past the three-year mark, staring out the window with arms crossed over his bare chest as Francis made a half-hearted effort to retrieve his own shirt from the floor beside the bed. “We can’t keep this up, Francis.”

“What? The sex? You just have to work on stamina—” Francis began.

“This _relationship_ ,” Arthur snapped aggressively, jerking around to face Francis with a glare.

“Why not?” he asked, pausing on the edge of the bed, one hand still outstretched towards his shirt, half thrown under the bed.

“If you’ve _quite_ forgotten, it’s _illegal,_ ” Arthur reminded him, his fearsome brow scrunching up. “And it’s dangerous. Not that you would know; _I’m_ the one who will lose my head if we’re caught.”

“Alfred would never,” Francis said, leaning his weight on his elbow, his attention fixed on Arthur. “He cares for you, you know.”

“Personal sentiment is irrelevant,” Arthur said stiffly. “He is king; if his queen commits treason, he is obliged to take action, whether he wants to or not. And he is no longer a child. I cannot control him forever. It was never our fate to be able to make these choices.”

“I do believe that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you admit that,” Francis remarked, ignoring the remark about fate entirely. Arthur’s hands gripped his arms tighter, digging his nails into the pink flesh.

“I mean this, Francis. It has to end, it cannot…it cannot keep going on like this, it’s too dangerous…” He shook his head, done listening to Francis’ counsel by the tone of his voice. Troubled, Francis threw the covers back and got out of bed, walking over to pull Arthur into his arms. The queen resisted and Francis let go, letting him step away to look out the window again at the swath of dark green where in spring the daffodils would bloom. “This is folly and you know it.”

“Love makes fools of us all, kings and peasants alike,” Francis said softly. Arthur’s attention snapped over to him again; one day, Francis feared, Arthur was going to injure his neck turning that fast.

“Love?” he scoffed, but Francis detected a tremor in the word. “Love will not spare my neck if Alfred hears of this!”

“But he won’t,” Francis said firmly. “We have managed thus far, and we will in the future,” he assured Arthur. “And if he ever did, you know I would shelter you here. I would not let him hurt you, Arthur.” Again, Arthur snorted, but refused to look at Francis.

“What are you going to do to stop him? Tie him up in a feather boa? Blind him with the amount of jewelry you wear?” The king’s ring was cool against Arthur’s shoulder as Francis reached out a hand to him.

“I will keep you safe,” he insisted gently. “Do you not believe me?”

“It’s not your commitment I doubt,” Arthur said, “it’s your capacity.” He could feel Francis’ offense without looking over, and the king withdrew his hand. Arthur’s arm felt chilled.

“I realize Diamonds’ military isn’t as _vast_ as Spades’, but I would still protect you!” he protested heatedly.

“One man is nothing to start a war over,” Arthur said flatly.

“I would start a war for you,” Francis murmured, leaning in to press kisses to the warm arteries in Arthur’s neck.

“Then you are quite as much of an idiot as I fear,” Arthur quipped, turning his head slightly.

“I would fight anyone for you.” Francis’ arms slowly wound around Arthur’s waist, pulling him closer. He didn’t lift his head from his lover’s neck.

“Alfred would kill you,” Arthur informed him.

“Perhaps,” Francis replied, untroubled. One hand rubbed Arthur’s hip. “But at least I would die for love.” His lips caressed Arthur’s throat.

“Stop saying that,” the queen muttered. “And that may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Saying what?” Francis asked, lifting his head at last to fix those big blue eye on Arthur’s face.

“All that nonsense about love,” Arthur grumbled, his gaze flicking away. “Dying for love still makes you dead.” Francis cupped Arthur’s face in his hands and looked into his eyes until the queen shifted uneasily.

“I love you,” the King of Diamonds told him without reservation. “And I, personally, think some deaths are better than others. I would rather die with you in the forefront of my mind.” He leaned in and kissed Arthur.

“You are an utter moron,” Arthur told him when Francis broke the kiss for air. Smooshing their lips back together, Arthur mumbled against the kiss, “but somehow I still like you.”

And the affair went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/146855892800/heavy-is-the-crown-ch-4)


	6. A Dance Betwixt Fire and Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is sent on a diplomatic mission to Clubs that does not go as planned. Ace Lukas observes goings on at the castle.

Arthur hadn’t been crazy about the idea of going to Clubs in the first place, but Alfred was growing increasingly frustrated with their inability to reach the other kingdom diplomatically. Someone had to go. Jack Yao was too important to risk and Alfred thought the importance of sending his own queen might reach something in Ivan.

                “What, so I’m less important than the Ace?” Arthur had groused.

                Arthur was the worst diplomat imaginable and Yao had spent painstaking hours trying to teach him how to behave in Clubs so he didn’t mortally offend the king or anyone else. It had all been a lot of work and no one had had any faith in him, and that put him in a sour mood, not that a good one would have made much difference, given the way things are going. It took a week to reach the Clubs capitol at Tristar and Arthur was sore from the jouncing of the carriage by the time he got there, something that made him feel unpleasantly old.

                King Ivan was as imposing as one might imagine, towering over six feet tall and as broad as a barn. Arthur looked at him and thought he could’ve single-handedly rammed through the vastly thick walls of the Clubs castle, Centerpeak. His wife, Elizabeta, looked equally formidable, even though she was approximately six or seven months pregnant with their third child. She looked like the sort of queen who would lead troops in battle without hesitation and the pair of them sitting up there on their cold, old thrones reminded Arthur of nothing so much as a bear and his she-bear.

                Merely being in Clubs Arthur could feel the lack of magic here. Centuries of abuse and misuse of it here had led to such a decline that even the Ace no longer practiced real magic. Centerpeak, which should have been the zenith of the kingdom’s magical power, felt utterly devoid of it. None of the Clubs royals were born with tattoos; there was a ritual for determining the flow of their energy and in the place where it was strongest, they were tattooed at the age of thirteen for the crown heir, after betrothal for the spouse, and when the Jack got their job. With the thick clothing they wore to keep warm in Clubs (that was ANOTHER thing, Arthur was so cold he was sure he was going to come back missing toes or limbs), none of their tattoos were visible but for the Jack, Roderich, who bore his on his left cheek.

                There hadn’t been anything wrong with Arthur’s welcome per say, but there was a gleam in Ivan’s eye that he didn’t like, and everyone seemed oddly cold. Half the time court pleasantries were nothing more than forced politeness, but even that was lacking here. He felt like he’d just walked into a trap and hadn’t realized what it was yet. It was not a good feeling.

                That had been three weeks ago.

                Since then, every time Arthur began to hint or suggest that it was time for him to go, Ivan would insist there was something else he needed to stay for, or merely ignore the statement altogether and keep going as if Arthur hadn’t said anything at all. Arthur hadn’t seen his carriage man in…he couldn’t remember how many days now, and his valet was often absent as well, with Ivan’s men tending him in place of his own. Arthur’s first impulse was to march straight up to Ivan and tell him to knock all this blasted nonsense off, but he tried to think back to Yao’s lessons on diplomacy, and imagine what outright accusing the King of Clubs of purposefully detaining him would do to their foreign relations.

                But if not a direct confrontation, what to do?

                Arthur paced around his room in frustration. The fire in the fireplace was burning low, but he didn’t feel like calling a servant to come add more wood. Instead, he merely tugged his inadequately-lined cap back onto his head, adding to the number of other outdoor-wear things he was sporting just to keep warm in this freezing guest room. The whole damn place was freezing; he hadn’t felt his toes in weeks and he was ready to throttle Ivan and Alfred both. Something else nagged at his mood as well—he hadn’t seen Francis in nearly a year. Nine months, to be exact. They had fought briefly (again) and so out of spite Arthur had stayed home from Alfred’s next visit to the Kingdom of Diamonds, but within months he’d begun to regret it enormously.

                Francis was becoming alarmingly like a drug for him. In his mind, he likened the other man to a heady dose of opium—he would swear up and down that he was done, it was over, bad for him, no good, but as soon as he was there puffing up again, he was one hundred percent sure he had the situation totally under control and he could manage it all. Every time he found himself convinced he was going to end this, he’d see one of Francis’ soft, more private smiles, or the way his hair fell across his face when it was unkempt, or hear the smooth tenor of his voice say something witty and cutting and droll all at once, and suddenly he was sure everything was fine and he could carry this on for ages more.

                With all these thoughts in mind, somehow, when he sat down to pen a letter to someone _useful_ about his situation, he found himself addressing the letter to his distant lover. Francis made him feel vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to, and he almost put it down to complain about, but decided that was far too personal for someone who was merely the closest thing to true love he might ever find. Lying awake at night, he ached for Francis in a way he never had for anything else, and it made him feel like a child, wanting, wanting, wanting something out of his grasp. Nothing could satisfy him but that one thing and knowing he couldn’t have it didn’t lessen the wanting or the pain of wanting in the slightest. He hadn’t felt like throwing himself down on the ground and screaming and kicking since he was three (Arthur was never very prone to fits as a child; he tended to bottle things up and act out in other ways), but last night he’d felt like nothing short of a temper tantrum would express how he felt.

                And even if he _had_ been with Francis, it wouldn’t be good enough, he thought savagely, slashing across the parchment with a heavily-inked quill. Because it would be all whispers and secrets and faces pressed into pillows or biting fingers to keep quiet and Francis or Arthur would have to leave in just a few hours to sneak back to another room anyway…these wants he had at night, wishing for Francis to lie there and hold him, they were folly! Even if Francis had been here he couldn’t have done!

                _The whole sodding world can go fuck itself,_ he snarled to Francis. _I am sick of the lot of it! I am sick of Ivan and Elizabeta and Alfred and Yao; I am sick of Clubs and Spades and Diamonds and Hearts; I am sick of being queen and I am rightly sure I would be sick of_ not _being queen after a few years of that, and I am sick of all our sneaking around and lying and none of it GOOD ENOUGH FRANCIS. NONE OF IT IS GOOD ENOUGH. I am sick of WANTING THINGS. You make me want things I cannot have and I hate you for it._

_I hate you for all of it._

_I hate you and yet if I had a choice of anyone showing up over this blasted barren horizon to get me OUT of here, I would choose you anyway. Why did you DO this to me?_ He had to stop to scratch that last line into oblivion before continuing. _And here I am writing to you as if there is a single bloody damn thing you can do about it, like the same blithering fools who sent me out here to freeze to death._

_Next time I decide to stay away out of spite, tell me I will regret it, because I have and I have no one to blame but myself (and your infuriating face, which is too tempting to argue with). If I do not escape this place wholly intact, you had better write a good eulogy. Alfred’s would be awful and Yao’s condescending, I’m sure._

_I have to stop now, because I really ought to be writing to someone who actually has the capacity to fix this problem (assuming I do not spark international incident by murdering certain persons myself and making off with a few horses). Be advised to remember this next time you speak with Ivan or Elizabeta._

_Cordially,_

_Arthur_

After Arthur had passed another _two confounded weeks_ in the Kingdom of Clubs, there was a reply. It had taken Arthur a few days to realize Ivan might easily intercept his letters, and so he had taken to checking with the appropriate servants per day, just in case, although he only half expected to get a response.

_My dear queen,_

_It saddens me to hear of your current predicament, and more so that I will not be able to glimpse the affronted expression I am sure you wear most often around Centerpeak. I do confess surprise at your surprise; Ivan and Elizabeta have never been a pair to abide by unspoken rules, even when it comes to such outrageous things as keeping a queen hostage. However, as amusing as I may find your struggles, I do wish to extend an offer of aid, though I admit I find myself at a bit of a loss. Given Spades’ relationship with Clubs, I do not imagine anything King Alfred might say could be awfully persuasive for Ivan._

_Is there not a piece of Clubs territory that Alfred has laid claim to? That area that rebelled a decade or so ago? I would ask what he has offered to help you, but knowing you, Alfred has no idea of your current situation._

_…_

_I will continue to ponder ideas for your rescue, my lovely damsel, and if anything strikes you, do write. Perhaps my old friendship with King Ivan would prove some use._

_Yours,_

_Francis_

                In fact, something struck Arthur right away as he read through the letter. The piece of Clubs territory that Francis spoke of had been claimed by Spades for many years, a claim Alfred had renewed on deciding that he didn’t like Ivan one whit. But the area was a jutting piece of Clubs territory surrounded on three sides by Spades land, and not far from the Diamonds border. Perhaps he could use it now.

_Francis,_

_Through your idiotic rambling you managed to spew something that caught my attention. You are right about the territory, Alfred joined his predecessor in laying historical claim to the piece of land, something that holds little weight, as no one else much supports it, and Spades is unlikely to go to war over it, coal deposits or not. But if Spades were to have backing in the claim, King Ivan might take the threat more seriously._

_These remain speculations, however, not that I have much else to fill up my time. I have yet to hear back from Yao, and I have not discounted that the ungrateful wretch might have left me here to freeze. Alfred, I feel sure, is enjoying an excessive number of croquet games and is wholly unconcerned with my plight._

_…_

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur_

                He half expected nothing to actually happen, but after yet another fortnight, Arthur’s breakfast with the King and Queen of Clubs was interrupted.

                “Your carriage will be prepared tomorrow for your departure,” Ivan said abruptly, breaking the typical silence of the meal. Throughout the massive stone hall with its vaulting wood roof, the only sound that could be heard each morning was the tinny sound of knives and spoons on plates. Clubs had felt no apparent need to take up use of the fork, to Arthur’s annoyance.

                Ivan’s words, coming suddenly and unexpectedly from a man who usually seemed altogether too cheery about keeping Arthur prisoner, and felt no need to behave in a way that acknowledged his hideous wrongdoing, left Arthur blinking stupidly at him.

                “What?” To Elizabeta’s right, her two boys were engaging in what appeared to be a pinching contest below the table, trying their hardest not to make any noises that would attract a fearsome scolding from their mother.

                “Your valet has already been informed,” Ivan went on in his infuriating way, as if there were nothing at all unusual about the situation. That was one of the most irritating things about him, Arthur thought. He never acted the way one should.

Breakfast went on as usual, much to Arthur’s vexation, and afterwards his valet was in his room, so he had his things packed up, to be on the safe side, though he half-expected to find Ivan had been lying. But the next day Ivan had an escort prepared for him. Ace Toris, a twitchy, nervous man with lanky brown hair and a slightly dogged look, was going to accompany them.

                As an Ace, Toris should’ve been the keeper of magic for the kingdom, but Arthur knew him to be nearly bereft of it; he could feel it as they made their way across the bridge that crossed the chasm between Centerpeak and the rest of Tristar. An Ace without magic was useless, Arthur knew, and when he sent a look over at the Ace of Clubs, the man flinched and hastily looked away. Arthur didn’t bother to make conversation.

                The carriage journey to the end of Clubs territory was as cold, rattling and long as the ride into Tristar had been, leaving Arthur feeling much like a bug shaken about in a box by a nasty child. It took them over a week to reach the end of the territory, but when Ivan’s posse brought him up to the edge of the border, it was into Diamonds that they sent him, not Spades.

                “We’ve come too far east!” he snapped in irritation, holding the carriage door open with a cane to scowl at the incompetent people Ivan had sent him with.

                “These were our orders,” said the Nine of Clubs flatly, her sharp gray eyes seeming to pierce Arthur’s flesh. She was the king’s own sister and poised to become the head of his army with the coming retirement of their current head general. She and Ivan were so much alike in coloring and temperament it was almost alarming, but even Ivan was softer than Natalya. What Arthur had felt like saying to Ivan, he would have tempered greatly before broaching with Natalya.

                “To bring me to Diamonds?” he snapped, swallowing his intimidation. “You are aware I’m the Queen of _Spades_ , yes?”

                “This is what King Francis wanted,” she said in the same monotone, unfazed by Arthur’s temper. He opened his mouth to demand what Francis had to do with anything, and then recalled his ranting, raving letter he’d sent in a fit of anger and annoyance. Francis hadn’t really found a way to bargain with Ivan, had he? And if he had…what did that say to the Four Kingdoms? That Francis got Arthur out instead of Alfred? Sometimes Arthur’s head hurt thinking of all the twisting and lying and creative spinning he and Francis had to do to keep this all under wraps. But he hadn’t expected Francis to actually take action!

                “Fine,” he said harshly. He rapped the roof of his carriage with the cane. “Let’s go then. I’m sure Francis has some important message for His Majesty, and what ought the queen be, if not a messenger pigeon?”

                Ivan’s guard remained at the border until the Spades procession was out of sight, or so Arthur assumed, because he couldn’t see them anymore when they’d crossed over one of the undulating golden hills deeper into Diamonds territory. All around them was wheat, and it remained so for the three days it took them to get to Diamandis. The first night in, Arthur sent Alfred and Yao another letter to let them know he was out of Clubs and taking a roundabout way home, in case, he claimed, Ivan chose to follow his movements. He’d speak in private with Alfred about the (carefully fixed) truth later; Yao was too sharp to buy that Francis had gotten him out of there for no reason, or whatever flimsy reason Arthur would later pass off on Alfred.

                Francis received Arthur only extraordinarily briefly when he arrived at Crystallides; the man barely spared him a second glance before sweeping off and leaving Arthur with Queen Lili, which, for one of them at least, was a painfully awkward situation.

                Lili took him to tea and spoke in a pleasant, soft voice, sympathizing with his “long stay” in Clubs and apologizing that Francis was too busy to treat with them now. There was a matter of some former merchant in the south claiming he had a royal tattoo that was being sorted out right now, apparently.

                “Kings are always busy,” Arthur dismissed it, sipping his tea. “You and I of all people would know.”

                “Francis usually makes time,” she said with a small frown, adding yet another sugar cube to her already tan-colored tea.

                “I am sure it is something passing, my lady,” Arthur said, too tired and irritable to comfort a young woman that her husband, with whom Arthur was sustaining a prolonged affair, still cared for her. Lili’s lichen-green eyes were still clouded with thought, but she let the subject of Francis drop.

                When they’d had their tea, and walked in the gardens for a while, and Arthur was impatient to be alone, the high, childish pitch of Queen Lili’s voice wearing on his nerves, she let one of the servants show him to his room. It had been redecorated since he’d been here last, with more muted shades of gold and yellow. Arthur had often remarked on the garish colors of the royal House of Diamonds; he wondered if this was an appeasement by Francis. When he went over and sat on the bed, he caught a distinct whiff of lavender and leaned in to sniff a pillow. They’d been liberally coated in scent and despite himself, a smile twitched on Arthur’s lips. Lavender was often Francis’ scent of choice and Arthur had grown rather fond of it as well; so much that when he smelled it now, he found himself automatically looking around for the King of Diamonds. It was inextricably tied with Francis. One finger traced the flowers woven onto the pillow casing and he considered taking a nap before dinner.

***

                Francis did not like having to be dismissive of Arthur, and it was a careful balance between not showing real interest in him, but also not appearing to avoid him that was necessary to keep anyone from looking too closely at their interactions. When Arthur strode into the throne room with his small entourage, Francis could see how tired and strained he looked; diplomacy was not one of Arthur’s favorite things and having to be polite in the face of Ivan and Elizabeta’s obvious manipulations had worn heavily on him.

                At dinner that night, the absence of parsnips told Arthur he was free to come find Francis later if he chose. He always did, except for that last time, where he had not come to Diamonds at all, citing a leg injury from riding. Francis knew it to be a lie, of course, because he recalled their fight and their bickering in their letters before that, but he accepted Alfred’s excuse with grace, even though he was angry at Arthur for being so stubborn and temperamental.

                He’d had some thought to scold him for it now, but when Arthur came to his chambers later that night, after Francis had said goodnight to Lili in the library, he hesitated only a moment before coming forward and embracing Francis tightly, burying his face in the crook of the king’s neck. Francis didn’t have the heart to say anything unpleasant; his arms wound around Arthur and he held him for a while. Arthur didn’t say anything, just stood there, breathing in Francis’ familiar smell and the warmth of Francis’ chest against his, and the feeling of Francis’ arms around him.

                “My poor flea,” Francis murmured, rubbing Arthur’s back. “You have had a rough time lately, haven’t you?” Arthur made a movement with his head that might’ve been a nod, or might’ve just been him trying to find a more comfortable place to rest his cheek than on Francis’ prominent collarbone. They stood a few more moments in silence and then Francis said, “Would you like to lie down, dear?” That was definitely a nod. Arthur stepped back and Francis guided him over to the bed, where he sat him down and helped him dress down. He knelt and pulled off Arthur’s boots, while the queen looked on in surprise, and then helped Arthur out of his doublet. They crawled under the covers and snuggled up together again, Francis holding Arthur against his chest. They didn’t make love that night, just lay together for a few hours.

                “What did you say to Ivan?” Arthur spoke at last, sounding as if he were testing out his voice to make sure it still sounded the same. “He must have acted as soon as he got your letter.”

                “I took your idea, actually,” Francis said. “I warned him that if he didn’t let you go, I would publically back the Spades claim to Windover. I told him I hadn’t yet said as much to Alfred, and that if he released you promptly, there was no reason anyone had to know.”

“And he didn’t put up a fight?” Arthur asked, surprise drawing his brows together. “I would have thought he would call your bluff.”

“Ivan and I get along alright,” Francis explained. “He knows I don’t want to go to war, and I managed to make it sound like more of a personal favor, I think.” Francis was petting Arthur’s hair, and he couldn’t summon the motivation to ask more questions now; he would later. After a comfortable pause, Francis kissed the top of Arthur’s head and said, “I missed you.” Arthur took a long moment to think on that before reply.

                “I missed you too, Francis.” He kissed Francis’ bare throat and wrapped his arm tighter around him. Francis glowed and squeezed Arthur tightly. Neither of them mentioned his absence at Alfred’s last visit. “I am telling you now, in case you didn’t know already, Clubs is an absolutely wretched place for a vacation. Save yourself the trouble.” Francis laughed and ran his hand affectionately through Arthur’s hair, making the already messy strands stand up even further.

                “It is beautiful in its own way, but so painfully cold,” Francis agreed. “I prefer to admire it from pictures, or the fireside. I can almost still feel the chill on you.” He rubbed Arthur’s upper arm, though when he moved his hand across Arthur’s chest, he actually felt quite warm. “A few days on the beach would do you good!”

                “Even if I had time for that, I’m sure Alfred would be horrifically jealous I didn’t bring him and sulk at me when I got back,” he said.

                “Ah, for the days before we took thrones, and I could have invited you both,” Francis sighed dramatically. Arthur snorted, as he was prone to when Francis took to dramatics.

                “We didn’t know each other and Alfred was a peasant,” he reminded Francis, turning his face away to cough.

                “Details,” Francis huffed. Arthur scoffed and closed his eyes again. They stayed like that a while longer, and then Arthur peeled away to go back to his own room.

                “I wish you could stay,” Francis sighed quietly, one arm crooked above his head on the pillow as he watched Arthur smooth out his rumpled clothing and put things back in place. The queen’s hands slowed, but he kept readying himself to go.

                “Yes, well,” he said. Suddenly speaking seemed far too much work for Francis, who could only think over and over again how much he wanted Arthur to stay. To take everything back off and climb into bed where he could curl up next to him and bury his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, and sleep with Arthur tucked comfortably against his side. He would even deal with the queen’s obscenely early rising hours and morning breath (Francis didn’t know, but he probably had it).

                Arthur felt the weight of Francis’ melancholy, silently pleading gaze on him as he gathered his things and made for the entrance to their secret passage. He didn’t know what they’d do without it, everything would be so much more complicated. As if it wasn’t complicated enough.

                “I wish that too,” he muttered, glancing back at Francis as he reached for the panel. “But this is the way it is.”

                Francis never told him how much that hurt, but as the Queen of Spades slipped out of his bedchambers and into the darkness of the passageway, it felt like he’d dug a splinter into Francis’ heart before going.

***

                When Arthur climbed into his carriage the next morning to make the return to Spades, he fancied he could still smell Francis’ preferred lavender soap clinging to his face and clothes. Or maybe it was coming from somewhere else; Francis never missed an opportunity to shower something in flowery scents. He also blamed Francis for his lack of sleep, because he felt utterly exhausted as he settled in for the ride home. Maybe he’d get some more rest on the way there.

                By the second morning on the road, Arthur realized with supreme annoyance that he was probably falling ill. He blamed Clubs. No one was meant to live up there; it wasn’t fit for people! He was tired the whole trip back and almost entirely absorbed watching the thorny swirls of roses painted on the inside of the carriage and daydreaming about turning the carriage around and going back to Crystallides and damn the Kingdom of Spades. _Alfred_ wasn’t going to be sympathetic about Clubs trying to retroactively kill Arthur for getting away!

                He kept himself together until he got back to Spades, but by the time he staggered out of the carriage to face the Jack’s immediate questioning about what had gone on in Clubs, he was wildly fevered and near collapse.

                “Just give me a moment,” he wheezed to the Jack, holding up a hand and leaning heavily on his ornamented cane.

                “Your Grace, you’re unwell,” Yao said, turning to snap his fingers at a footman. “Rest now, we’ll speak later.”

                “No, no, I’ll talk now,” he said, wondering if he ought to mention to Yao that he could feel the Earth spinning, and it was a very curious sensation. He felt a light touch on his elbow and there was the footman, trying to guide him inside.

                “Your Grace must rest,” Yao opposed in a smooth tone. _How impertinent_ , Arthur thought, _to disagree with the queen_. But his tone sounded nearly deferential even as he refused to listen, and there was a loud humming in Arthur’s ear so he didn’t bother picking a fight. “It would not do for Your Grace to become very ill.”

                Unable to front much of an argument, Arthur just followed the footman inside, putting all his focus into staying on his feet and not running into anything. He tried to send the footman away when he reached his chambers, but the lad came back seeing how much Arthur struggled in undressing, and helped him take off his travel clothes. Then he collapsed into bed and closed his eyes.

***

                “The queen is very ill,” Jack Yao announced. King Alfred looked up from where he was scribbling furiously at the desk. Ace Lukas, standing nearby, raised his steely blue gaze to the Jack’s feathered peacock plume, sticking up proudly from his old hat, then down to the Jack’s face.

                “Is it serious?” King Alfred asked, looking up when he had finished his sentence. “Will he be alright?”

                “I would consider it likely,” Yao reported, his long sleeves hiding the hands folded together in front of him. He had been Jack as long as Lukas could remember, long before Lukas had taken over the Ace position from his father, who had been known for his ability to predict the outcome of battles. Lukas had dreamed of becoming a famed Ace, a respected member of court, a man to go into the history books, but more and more he felt his position was nothing but a formality, a traditional role that had to be filled. What was it he _did_ here that no one else could?

                “I should go see him,” the king mused, glancing over to the bonsai tree that sat on the corner of the desk, and then making another note on his parchment.

                “I don’t think that will make much of a difference, Your Highness,” the Jack alleviated him of the responsibility. “He’s quite fevered, I’m not sure he would know Your Highness was there.”

                “Hm.” The king’s brow furrowed as he squinted at his paper, thinking. He had confessed to Lukas once, a couple years ago, when Queen Arthur was still taking it upon himself to teach the king to read and write, that to him, it seemed too often like the words were moving around on the paper just to make it difficult for him. Numbers he could figure with no problem; he had kept the books for his father when he was still a merchant’s son. But words were a constant struggle for him; he often dictated to a scribe rather than writing his own works. When he did, it was often for show, like now. He didn’t like anyone to think their king was uneducated, as Queen Arthur had frequently warned him of the dangers of being a king who wasn’t respected. Lukas could see he wasn’t writing anything complex or of real meaning now, and he suspected Yao knew this. “I’ll send Lukas then,” he said, looking over at the Ace. “Take care of him, make him well again. Make sure to send me news if there is any.”

                Lukas nodded and the king dismissed them both.

                As they walked down the hall, there was no sound but Lukas’ boot heels against the stone floor. The Jack’s whispering slippers were almost silent as they glided across the floor.

                “You seem disquieted,” Yao remarked into the silence. Lukas’ eyes slid over to the Jack, but he didn’t reply in word. “The queen will be well again, take heart.” They both knew if Lukas was disquieted it wasn’t about the health of Queen Arthur. The Ace was not a healer, that was not his fate. Yet, here he was, disposed to whatever jobs the king and queen needed, even to things like _party planning_.

                “I’m sure,” he intoned, not turning his head to look at the Jack.

                “Of course, you will take good care of him,” the Jack said.

                “I will.” He didn’t have much of a choice. While King Alfred did not strike him as the type to kill a man who failed to save the queen’s life, he would be put even further out to pasture if he couldn’t succeed in the few tasks he was given, even if they were completely unrelated to his original job.

                “I will give you some things for him,” Yao offered, sharply turning to the right, forcing Lukas to turn with him.

                _I used to be the alchemist_ , Lukas thought with a dull pulse of anger. His father had been. The Ace was supposed to be the king and queen’s alchemist, but Queen Arthur hadn’t come to him in years for anything, and the king mistrusted magic.

                Jack Yao’s office was an impressive thing, filled with all sorts of ancient tomes and colorful bottles labeled carefully in the script of his home province. It was packed full of things, but each thing had its place. The room felt humid, as though Yao had had a cauldron bubbling inside recently. A faintly sulfuric smell hung in the air, though if he moved closer to the Jack’s heavyset desk, he could smell the drying flowers in their pots.

                “He has a fever, and a cough,” the Jack explained as he browsed his shelves of bottles by the foggy windows. “He doesn’t sleep well. This should do the trick.” His hand emerged from its sleeve, offering Lukas a bottle with a bulbous body and short, thin neck, filled with a blue liquid that seemed to shift in shade when the contents moved. Lukas hesitated a moment before taking it, and tucking it into the small leather pouch that hung by his hip. As distasteful as the Jack’s help was, it could also be necessary. The Jack withdrew a tiny vial from his robes. “If that doesn’t work in two days’ time, use this.”

                Lukas took the vial and held it up to the light, peering through the clear pink-red fluid. “What is this?” he asked, his gaze brushing over the characters inscribed on its label. It was old, old writing, it meant nothing to him.

                “A back-up plan,” the Jack said evenly, turning away from Lukas. A wave of his hand dismissed the Ace and he took his leave.

                He contemplated the vial in his hand as he made his way upstairs. What was it, he wondered? The obvious answer was medicine. But a creeping voice in Lukas’ mind asked whether or not Jack Yao was finally willing to rid himself of the Ace entirely, leaving the king and queen that much more dependent on his services. Surely though…even Yao would not frame him for letting the queen perish! He couldn’t quite call it murder, though it would be if he gave this to Queen Arthur and he died. Maybe it was nothing at all, a mere placebo, to leave Queen Arthur entirely in the hands of fate. Suddenly Lukas wished he had mixed his own medication rather than accepting goods from Yao.

                In the queen’s chambers, Arthur was sweating and wheezing in bed, not conscious but hardly sleeping soundly. Lukas measured out a helping of the blue bottle into a small glass from his hip pouch, and lifted the queen’s head a little to help him drink.

                “Here, Your Highness,” he murmured. The queen neither resisted nor assisted him; he was stiff and still in Lukas’ grip.

                When he had dosed the queen with the blue fluid, he sat back on his seat and waited. The queen must be monitored and Lukas enjoyed solitude, so he might as well do it. He looked around, amusing himself by critiquing the interior design of the room, having never been into the queen’s chambers before.

                Blue was the dominant color in the room, but a lighter shade than the dark hues that draped the king’s chambers. Queen Arthur favored light blue and green, it seemed. A seafoam-ish shade striped the ceiling in the painted beams that ran across it. The walls were decorated with old paintings: a knight a-horse, a vast red and yellow garden, a ship on a stormy sea. The enormous rug on the floor was a lichen-green with twirling, swirling foxglove gamboling around the threads. The bed cover and curtains were embroidered with roses two shades darker, and matched closely with the pillow covers of the middle pillows. Those pillows on the outside, the decorative ones, were a creamy off-white with vases that the queen himself had embroidered. The vanity was kept fairly neatly, but for parchment and quills left lying around. On a table by the window, there was a struggling bunch of daffodils, languishing in the dim light cast through the heavy cloud cover of the Sapphire City. Lukas compared it to King Alfred’s chambers, in which he had spent time before. The king was much messier, and preferred simpler designs. Going over to the window, Lukas had a look at the view.

                Queen Arthur’s chambers looked out over the gardens in the front of the Spades castle, the rose bushes and stretches of other flowers that he chose so carefully. Off to the left, he could see the curing iron gates leading into a particular garden with plants chosen by the Jack. Some of them he used in his potions and ceremonies, but others, it seemed to Lukas, were just flowers.

                The rest of Lukas’ day was spent with the queen. The king came by once to make sure the queen hadn’t keeled over yet, and then went off to pay a visit to a local university, where his presence was to honor the president and the impressive graduates. Queen Arthur stayed much the same in that time, but in the afternoon, when the day’s rains had broken for the first time, he began to toss and turn, muttering in his sleep.

                Lukas listened briefly to see if he was saying anything comprehensible, but when he could find nothing, he went back to reading the scroll he’d had brought up from his own chambers. Might as well take the chance to study while he was here, doing nothing. Presently, the queen cried out more clearly.

                “Francis! Oh…” he groaned in discomfort, rolling onto his back. “Why doesn’t he come?” he gasped to himself, fingers knotting up in the covers. “He…why…he doesn’t come…Francis!” His face twisted up and his eyes squinted open, cloudy eyes flicking frantically around the bed canopy. “Francis,” he croaked, twitching. “Bring him…someone…selfish…I need…”

                Lukas lowered his scroll and leaned forward, his gray-blue eyes fixed _most_ intently on the queen. Now there were a multitude of people that Queen Arthur could have been crying so piteously for. But even assuming it might be more innocuous than first blush, there was one thing that was undeniable: Francis, as a name, was virtually unheard of in the Kingdom of Spades, or, in fact, any kingdom outside that of its origin. It came from an old tradition, making it very popular in the Kingdom of _Diamonds_.

                But why, Lukas thought as he peered at the red-faced queen, would their Most Royal Queen be calling out so impassionedly for a man from the Kingdom of Diamonds? Lukas wasn’t awfully familiar with the court of the Kingdom of Diamonds, as the Ace didn’t often travel, being more valuable at home, but he could think of only one notable man bearing that name at this time: the Most Esteemed King of Diamonds.

                No, though! Queen Arthur was not that sort of man; his whole life was dictated by what was proper, he was locked into a code as old as his family name. He would never dare soil the honor of the Kirkland family, or of the crown, with such behavior! And yet, Lukas didn’t quite believe it. How hard would it be to keep a secret from King Alfred? An arranged marriage would be an odd situation. Lukas himself had never felt any pressing desire for marriage or romantic companionship, but people spoke of it constantly. Could it be, that the queen found his situation so intolerable he had sought happiness or pleasure with someone else? And if he had, was it possible it had been with the King of Diamonds, who was well-known for his many affairs?

                The sheer scandal of it delighted Lukas’ mind. How wonderfully _awful_ , if it were true! What a terrible, dishonorable betrayal! How fantastically wretched! Could anyone be so magnificently stupid, to have an affair with _another monarch_? What would King Alfred do, if he knew? Who would dare to tell him?

                Lukas shook his head. No one could tell him anything without proof or evidence. And if he _were_ doing such a fool thing, he ought to at least know not to leave anything lying around that would give him away. Then again, how could such a tryst be conducted _without_ leaving any kind of trail? But no, it couldn’t be true. He was getting himself worked up into all kinds of excitement because he _wanted_ it to be true, just for the thrill of it, but it couldn’t be so. More likely, if the queen _were_ having an affair at all, it was some noble of Diamonds so minor Lukas had never heard of him, but so happened to share a name with his king.

                No, life was far too dull to permit such deliciously salacious excitement. But there couldn’t be any harm in keeping an eye out, just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who's supported this story so far! I love each and every comment left here, they mean so much to me. If you really like it, I'd like to give you a little nudge to reblog the chapter on tumblr, which helps me get more exposure. The link is at the bottom of every chapter! Regardless though, I really am grateful for all your support!
> 
> [On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/147573258075/heavy-is-the-crown-ch-5)


	7. Fate is Written

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis demands decisions from Arthur and Alfred attempts to repair his relationship with his husband.

In the winter of the year following Arthur’s illness, the Kingdom of Spades held the New Years’ Ball, as their custom was. Prior to the festivities, Arthur performed the queen’s customary spell for prosperity in the kingdom, doing his best to spread good luck and happy fortune for the people of Spades. It was a highly publicized affair, that took place in Sun Square in the Sapphire City, with everyone invited to come and watch. Although Arthur wasn’t one for excessive attention, he did like performing the broad-reaching spells. They were draining, but in a pleasant way, like a day of hard work. And it wasn’t _so_ bad having the city come watch him do something he was good at. That took most of the day, and then it was back to the Spades Palace to finish preparations for the ball.

After the event, a number of their most esteemed guests spent a few days more in the palace, and it was up to the king and queen to entertain them. Among them were the King and Queen of Diamonds, who had left their land under the care of the king’s noble brother, Six Antonio.

                Arthur found himself constantly swinging between secretly thrilled and two steps from a nervous breakdown. He had to check his every expression, his every comment to and about the Diamonds representatives, paranoid that something would give him away to his clueless husband. It didn’t help that he had Francis had been skirting around a fight since the second night; it was one they’d had before, many times, but it had never come to a resolution and the whirling emotion from that only added to Arthur’s volatile mood. He could tell Alfred was getting annoyed; earlier in the afternoon Arthur had snapped aggressively at him for talking too loudly in the library while Arthur was trying to play chess with Meimei, Eight of Hearts.

                _He can handle it,_ Arthur thought irascibly. _He’s an adult, I don’t need to baby him._

                Many of their guests were leaving the next day, so Alfred had the kitchens go out of their way to put together a real feast. It was Spades’ last chance to show off before the majority of their foreign visitors went home. The table had been decorated with a rich blue runner and a variety of green sprigs from the garden.

                Over the course of roast beef, fried rice and drunken crab, the conversation turned to the fortune of the coming year.

                “You must tell us what you’ve seen, Lili!” Eight Meimei exclaimed, looking eagerly towards the Queen of Diamonds, who shifted uneasily in her seat. Given the frailty of magic in the Kingdom of Diamonds, Queen Lili’s visions were often treated more like a party trick than heralds of the future. Maybe in ages gone by they all would have listened raptly as the young woman was gripped with powerful foresights, but now such events were confined to the history books.

                “All good fortune, I’m sure,” Francis interjected smoothly. “She told me earlier that the kale crop should be planted earlier this year, so our garnishes might not wither in the late summer heat.” Lili gave an almost imperceptible nod, her gaze fixed on her goblet, which she reached for when Francis finished speaking. Arthur snorted, grated by the ever calm, collected voice of the King of Diamonds. As if they hadn’t been squabbling just hours before!

                “What, do you not believe in Queen Lili’s foresight?” asked Gabriel, Three of Diamonds, in surprise. Spades had long boasted itself to be the most magical kingdom, and Queen Arthur an avid supporter of the national magical societies, so Gabriel found it hard to believe he dismissed Queen Lili’s premonitions so easily.

                “I trust Queen Lili,” Arthur countered. “It’s the king who draws his conclusions from thin air.”

                “Does the queen not trust my judgement?” Francis asked, looking amused, but in absentia of the combative edge to his smile that both infuriated and attracted Arthur. The mere fact that he wasn’t engaging in this fight that Arthur was spoiling from galled the queen even more. Francis acting as if he were mature, and Arthur’s comments childish!

                “I don’t trust the judgement of any who have proven they have little more between their ears than cotton,” Arthur returned, glaring at Francis.

                Whatever Francis might have been going to say was interrupted by Alfred’s tittering laugh. He tapped a finger against the solid, polished oak of the table.

                “Arthur, come now,” he said, trying to temper his queen’s sour attitude. “The King of Diamonds is our, uh, cherished…ally—”

                “Allies aren’t without fault,” Arthur plowed over him.

                “Please, enlighten me,” Francis intercepted the next sentence of Arthur’s. “Since you are so talkative tonight.”

                “If I were to spend the night listing your faults we would be here until evening next,” Arthur accused. “Not in the least because you so rarely _listen—_ ”

                “Arthur.” This time Alfred spoke loudly enough to be heard down the length of the table, and there were no sheepish excuses in his tone. “I said that’s enough.” So shocked was Arthur at Alfred’s commanding tone that for a moment, he could only turn his head to stare incredulously at the King of Spades.

                “Are you telling me—”

                “I am telling you that that’s enough,” Alfred interrupted. “I would have you apologize to our guests. They are here to receive our hospitality; we should show it to them.” He held Arthur’s gaze over the wiry rims of his glasses, and Arthur was startled to see there was no give or jest in the king’s usually playful blue eyes. The table was silent, and Arthur could feel everyone watching them. Whatever he chose to do now would not only reflect on himself, but on Alfred and their kingdom as well, which was why Arthur had few choices. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stifle his pride.

                “Forgive my tone,” he said in a stilted voice to Francis and Lili. “I find speculation a waste of time, myself. But of course I hope for a good year. May Queen Lili’s visions prove accurate.” He bent his head over his tomato soup and Seven of Spades Xiao Chun initiated conversation again by asking King Alfred what his plans for the Royal Naval Academy were this year.

                When the meal was over, Arthur found himself conflicted between avoiding Alfred, and seeking him out to demand what the purpose of that had been. But in the end, he already knew the answer—it was Alfred asserting his power as king. _He’s only a boy_ , was Arthur’s first thought. But then it occurred to him that Alfred was twenty-two, the same age Arthur himself had been when he took up the throne—and Alfred had had it for six years already.

                Alfred made the matter simple by finding Arthur himself.

                “I wanted to talk to you about earlier,” he said, approaching Arthur in his study.

                “I don’t see as how there is very much to talk about,” Arthur said, not deigning to look up from his needlework. “You protect our diplomatic relations, as a king should.” What sounded like praise to Alfred startled him for a moment, but then he continued.

                “Is everything alright with you, my lord?” Alfred asked, drawing up a chair to sit near Arthur. “Your temper has been easily provoked of late and your mood seems continually excited and very changeable.”

                “Is that a crime?” Arthur asked, looking up.

                “No,” Alfred replied, lowering his steeped hands with an innocent look. “But it concerns me when my queen is anxious.”

                “I am not anxious, I’m just annoyed,” Arthur said, going back to his needle.

                “Are you sure?” Alfred asked.

                “Are you asking me whether or not I’m sure of my own mood?” Arthur asked, sounding definitively annoyed now as he looked up again. Alfred relented.

                “Whatever the case,” he said, waving a hand. “You cannot speak to our allies—or any of our guests—like that. You and Yao have always warned me of the importance of appearances, and it doesn’t do to insult our friends. I know you don’t care for Francis, but he is our ally and he has been a good one to us.” Arthur gave an irritable sigh.

                “Yes, my lord,” he said, puncturing the fabric a little aggressively. “I will mind my tongue in the future.” He felt like he was thirteen again, getting this same lecture from his mother.

                “Well…good…then,” Alfred said, looking around as if the thread to the conversation might pop out from behind a bookshelf.

                “Does my lord have anything else to speak to me of?” Arthur asked pointedly when Alfred remained seated.

                “No, that was all.”

                “Then perhaps my lord would give me a moment of solitude,” Arthur said. “I find myself tired of tonight’s festivities.” Accustomed to Arthur’s dislike of social engagements, Alfred didn’t begrudge his need for alone time.

                “Yes, my lord,” he said, getting up. “I will be downstairs with some of the others, if you should wish to join us.”

                “Thank you, I shall keep that in mind,” Arthur said, spearing himself with the needle as Alfred took his leave. Only when the king was gone did Arthur suck the blood from his finger, doubly put out with himself. He remained upstairs in his study until Francis excused himself to go to bed, and found his way there, so they could spend a few hours by the fire.

***

Ace Lukas was not the only one who had noticed discrepancies in the queen’s behavior. The Six of Spades, Huyen, had taken note of the queen’s odd hours kept during parties, and how secretive he was about his correspondence. Perhaps she was merely more attentive and observant than Lukas, or perhaps she was simply around in court more, though that was doubtful.

                The Six of Spades traditionally held land in the southwest, where there was warm, humid jungle and long flowing rivers. Huyen preferred to be there, ruling over her lands and with her family, than to pass time at court. But as a Number, she was expected to be there at least semi-regularly, so she attended and took note of the goings-on. And it seemed to her that the queen of Spades was up to something.

                What could a queen have to hide, she wondered? If he were embezzling money, he’d hardly be the first. Would the king even care? He would have no reason to conspire behind King Alfred’s back; he was already queen, and even if he did something as treasonous as regicide, he wouldn’t get the king’s throne forever. He’d only be an interim ruler until they located the new king. Maybe that was enough for him? But no, she didn’t think he was so bitter towards Alfred as to want to _kill_ him.

                There was one glaring option then, she realized one day, sitting in her study. The queen was unfaithful.

                It was treasonous, it was dishonorable, it was punishable by death, even…what else could be so precious a secret for the queen to hide?

                “He talked in his sleep,” the Ace had said when she’d last been at the Spades castle. There had been plenty of talk about the queen’s health, though never within his ears, as he was keen to banish all talk of his illness and the embarrassing need for aid.

                Ace Lukas never said anything without thinking it over carefully. So if he had mentioned it, Huyen wondered suddenly what it was the queen had said, and if he had been truly asleep when he said it. Lukas had been long unhappy with the way his position had been reduced by the king and queen…if he knew something, she was sure he would use it against them.

                Huyen had no great love for the queen, but she had gotten along much better with the king since he relented in trying to control the minutia of her lands. If Lukas upset the balance of things by blabbing out some ill-conceived notion of what was really going on, it could be troublesome.

                It was thus that she began a quiet investigation into the queen’s comings and goings. Once she started paying attention, she couldn’t tell whether or not it was easy to see how suspiciously the queen acted, or if she was simply seeing what she wanted to see, now that she’d convinced herself this was the case.

                One day, she decided simply to confront the Ace about what he’d meant with comment she had taken as off-hand at the time.

                “Do you recall when the queen was ill?” she asked. “You mentioned he spoke in his sleep.” The Ace shrugged.

                “What of it?”

                “Did he say anything of importance?” she asked, lacing her fingers together in front of her, palms up. They both had those sort of eyes that betrayed very little about what they were thinking, and were therefore accustomed to being able to use this look to their advantage, but now they simply stared each other down, each waiting for the other to cave. Huyen’s intensity wore Lukas down eventually; she was determined to get answers.

                “Who knows?” he asked, shrugging again. “It might’ve all been nonsense.”

                “All the same, it would interest me to know what he said.” Silence gripped them again as Lukas wondered what Huyen was considering and if it was the same thing he was thinking, and Huyen awaited more information.

                “Just some babble about a stranger,” he said casually with a shrug, after a few moments of silence. He looked away. “I do not know who.” At this point, he had the upper hand—he knew more. He wasn’t going to give the Six more information than he had to to seem cooperative; it was up to him to tell the king about the queen’s potential infidelity, once he had more information.

                “Hm.” Huyen made a quiet, thoughtful noise in the back of her throat and nodded, leaving Lukas to whatever it was he did these days. She had further investigations to carry out.

                Later, she caught one of the chamber maids out in the hall and offered him a bribe.

                “I’m looking for something of the queen’s,” she said, “something the king might be interested in. If, in cleaning the queen’s chambers, you happen to find anything…out of place…letters that seem odd, things that appear hidden, things that might have…originated elsewhere, let me know.” She passed the bribe over to the chamber maid. “The king will be grateful for your help.”

                It took several weeks for anything to turn up, but one early afternoon, when Huyen was composing a letter in her chambers, the maid knocked on the door.

                “Enter.” He shuffled in, hands clasped behind his back, and offered her a small bow.

                “My lady. I…I think I found something.” A little tremor went through him; she imagined he must be rightly terrified, stealing things from the queen’s chambers. Queen Arthur wasn’t the sort to take that kind of thing lightly. The lad could lose a hand.

                “What is it?” she asked turning to face him. “Let me see.” He moved forward, toes pointed in, dragging his feet. She thought he resembled an adolescent duck. When he reached her, he showed her his hand, and resting in it was a finely made ring. At first glance, it might appear utterly innocuous. Huyen picked it up and began to examine it. “Where did you find this?”

                “There was a secret compartment in the queen’s jewelry cabinet,” he confessed reluctantly. A hidden compartment! She’d chosen the right maid for the job, he’d done well. But why hide it?

                “Thank you. Leave it with me for now, I’ll send you back with it later.” She waved the maid off and sat back in her seat, staring at the ring. What was so special about it? Could it simply be something close to His Highness? Huyen couldn’t ever remember seeing him wear it, but perhaps it was an old family treasure. Or maybe he _had_ worn and she just hadn’t noticed; she didn’t make a habit of taking stock of His Highness’ jewelry.

                The Six got to her feet and walked over to the window, holding the ring up into the light. The plump, round jewel in the center sparkled a deep reddish-orange. It was a beautiful color, but it was also a riddle, and Huyen was determined to solve it.

                She did not solve it before dinner. When she blew her candle out to go eat, she slipped the ring into her pocket, and hoped the queen wouldn’t miss it. She could return it now, put it back and let it go. It would be harder to figure it out without the ring in front of her though. Then again, a voice of doubt whispered into her ear, maybe she was imagining all of it. Maybe the queen wasn’t doing anything out of place, and she was just seeing a problem that wasn’t there.

                Twenty-four hours, she told herself. If she didn’t get another clue within twenty-four hours, she’d let it go and move on.

                Walking in the Hall of Heavenly Light later, she was examining the stained glass windows when it came to her. The hall was a famous landmark of the Spades castle, extending out from the main structure. On each side, there were four massive stained glass windows that represented each of the Four Kingdoms. Each window had symbols of their culture, their royal house, their history and their products. On sunny days, light splintered through the windows and lit the room up in a shattered rainbow. When Huyen reached the Diamonds window, the second to last of the four sets, she paused, recognizing a similar reddish-orange color in it that reminded her of the ring. She took it out of her pocket and raised it up to compare it, wondering if it was the same shade. Looking at the ring and how well it fit into the scheme of the window, suddenly it hit her.

                The jewel—it wasn’t an orange sapphire, it was a _diamond_.

                Four Kingdoms royals _never_ wore jewels of another country. King Alfred and Queen Arthur wore only sapphires—never emeralds or rubies or diamonds. Just so for the other three royal families—King Ivan would never wear a ruby, Queen Kiku never a sapphire, King Francis never an emerald. The jewels were symbols of their governments; they were very carefully tended to and respected.

                Who in the world would have given His Highness a diamond ring, knowing he’d never wear it? Or if Queen Arthur had bought it, why? He didn’t seem wasteful. And if he’d bought it himself, why hide it? What was the point of it?

                Questions plaguing her mind, Huyen immediately went to find the young maid and give the ring to him to return.

                “Make sure you do it when the queen is out,” she told him, turning quickly to return to her chambers. She had to think.

                Eventually, she decided her original suspicion was right: the queen was up to something, and the ring was part of it. He had no reason to be stashing a diamond ring anywhere unless he had a reason to hide it.

                So she went to the king.

                “Your Highness.” She bowed as she entered his study. “Thank you for seeing me.”

                “You wanted to talk about something?” King Alfred folded his hands on the desk, but fell to twiddling his thumbs. He was always twitching, Huyen thought, like he just couldn’t bear to sit still. 

                “Yes, Your Highness.” She took a quiet breath; this was her last chance to walk away and let the subject go. But if she was right, and she was the one to bring it to the king’s attention, it could put her in his favor, and by extension, her family. “I fear I have discovered something distasteful,” she began carefully. “And I thought it should be brought to Your Highness’ attention.”

                “What is it?” King Alfred asked, blinking. He looked interested in what she had to say, so she continued.

                There was no delicate way to say it, was there? She just had to come out with it.

                “I believe the queen is unfaithful to you, Your Highness,” she said.

                “Arthur?” As if there was some other queen who might have been unfaithful to him!

                “Yes, Your Highness.” The king frowned and the interest in his eyes turned hard.

                “What makes you think that?” he asked. He didn’t immediately dismiss her, but Huyen could hear the warning signs in his tone. She had to present her evidence neatly.

                “I have noticed he keeps odd hours,” she told him. “And I have heard from a maid that he keeps a ring in his room—a diamond ring. I have never known His Highness to wear a diamond ring. No Spades royal ever wears diamonds. Who would have given him such a thing?”

                King Alfred was not easily roused to anger. He was an even-tempered young man, more prone to upset than anger, and relaxed in the way he ran his court. But Huyen could see she had hit a bad spot with this.        

                “You would accuse my queen of treason because he stays up late and has a _ring_?” the king asked in disbelief.

                “They are things out of place, Your Highness,” she pointed out.

                “But to accuse the queen of being unfaithful! Because of some oddities? Arthur is strange, but he would never betray us like that,” the king said seriously. His eyes betrayed a deeply troubled feeling that one of his nobles would make such a suggestion. “He is a man of dignity and he would never weaken Spades that way! He has been loyal to his fate since long before I knew him and it would take a _great_ deal more than some out of place trinkets and insomnia to even begin to convince me he would put us at risk like that.” His brow knitted together and he got to his feet, resting his hands on the desk. “No…I don’t want to hear any more about this, Six,” he said. “I won’t hear of anyone questioning Arthur’s commitment to the crown, or to his country. He has done nothing to deserve it.” He began to rifle through a desk drawer, and while he had not verbally dismissed Huyen, she knew her audience was over.

                “Forgive me, Your Highness,” she said, bowing. “I should not have jumped to conclusions.”

                “Yes, well…” The king sighed and looked up. “Everyone makes mistakes. You wanted to keep me informed, I do appreciate that. But please think through your observations more carefully next time, Six.”

                “Yes, Your Highness.”  She gave another short bow and took her leave. In the hall, she cursed quietly under her breath. That could hardly have gone worse. “That’s it,” she groused to herself. She vowed then to retire to her home estate and leave all the court nonsense and intrigue behind for a good long while. She’d had enough of it.

***

                Arthur was sitting before a softly crackling fire in the Three Sisters sitting room, working over a bit of embroidery when Alfred found him. He was so absorbed in his work, he didn’t hear Alfred’s heavy step until the young king had plopped down on the couch beside Arthur’s own armchair. Alfred didn’t say anything until Arthur looked over, and then his sky-blue eyes were fixed on the snapping flames of the fire.

                “Been a while since I sat down here,” he observed with a chuckle that was less amused and something else Arthur couldn’t quite read. Regretful, maybe? “What are you working on?” he asked.

                “A coast,” Arthur said, tilting the embroidery ring to show Alfred a glimpse of the waves taking shape on the off-white cloth.

                “It looks nice,” Alfred said, smiling with a touch of uncertainty in his face. When he had first come, he had been too thin to have any childish plumpness left to his cheeks, but even if he had, it would be gone by now. A firm jawline stood in place of his once soft, zit-prone face.

 In his face and his voice, there was a loss of rhythm. He didn’t know where it had gone, but he could tell they were out of step. In the beginning of their marriage, they had struggled vigorously to make things work. Alfred could still clearly remember Arthur’s impatience with his ignorance, and his own frustration with the restrictive life of a royal, and Arthur’s own sour attitude. But they had learned to make it work in the following years, and Alfred had been comfortable with where they had landed, more like a bickering set of brothers than husbands. That was alright with the merchant’s-son-turned-king, who valued Arthur’s companionship in all its platonic affection. Somewhere in the last few years though, something had changed. They had lost that tentative rhythm they had once found, and Alfred wasn’t sure how to find it again.

                It wasn’t like it had once been, when they were constantly arguing and refusing to give ground on anything, so somehow, it felt harder to fix, because it was harder to observe. But Alfred sensed Arthur was growing impatient with him again, and he didn’t know why. Neither of them was very skilled at socialization, but Alfred was at least outwardly amiable and willing to talk to almost anyone, so eventually he decided it was up to him to try to cross the rough patch they were going through. Six’s assumptions had spurred him to finally take action on the issue. Most troublingly, Six Huyen’s speculation was not the first time he’d come across that particular rumor. It must have been nearly a year past now that he wrangled the rumor out of a stable girl, terrified of sharing such a vicious rumor about her queen. It had been Yong Soo who led him to it in the first place, but when he pressed the Nine for his opinion, Yong Soo was silent. Alfred feared he was thus afraid to admit he had believed the rumor. Alfred had done his best to quash it, having a stern and uncomfortable talk with the household staff, but the Six was not of a class to have picked it up from one of her maids or other servants. She had come to that conclusion herself.

                “Thank you, my lord.” Arthur’s voice was low, and he went back to what he was doing. Alfred decided the ensuing silence was an invitation for him to speak again.

                “I wondered if you might be interested in a game of chess,” he offered, giving that little smile again, twitching as if waiting to spread into the ear-to-ear grin he was known for. “It’s been a long time since we played.” Arthur had taught him most of what he knew of the game, so Alfred thought it might be a good meeting ground for them.

                “Perhaps because you’ve been so wrapped up in having a contest of masculinity with King Ivan,” Arthur remarked, but the barb in his voice was minimal.

                “Hey! Hey, hey. That didn’t happen,” Alfred responded, his back straightening. “And if it did, I would win.”

                “Unless he is very disproportionate, I should think not,” Arthur intoned.

                “I’m slighted.” Alfred leaned in a little. “Is he really as big as they say?” He had never met the other king face-to-face, but had treated with his envoys a few times.

                “Let me put it this way,” Arthur said, piercing his needle through the cloth, “the bear on the coat of arms for House Braginsky is not there for nothing. He looks like he could break through the castle wall with nothing but a running start, and I am sure he could look eye-to-eye with our Two.”

                “With _Berwald_?” Alfred asked, his eyes bugging a little. He had always loved a good tale, so Arthur sometimes gave into the temptation to exaggerate for the gratification of Alfred’s reactions.

                “Maybe he is even taller, I do not recall precisely,” he said, not looking up from his work. “But his shoulders were broader than your destrier.” Alfred, who rode a massive white horse that could’ve easily borne one of Ivan’s size and weight, looked appropriately awed. It wasn’t true at all, but perhaps there was something of a storyteller in Arthur.

                “I find that entirely unnecessary,” Alfred complained. “Who needs to be that big? It’s frankly excessive.”

                “Take that up with Ivan,” Arthur said automatically, then paused, needle in hand, and realized what he said. “Don’t. Don’t take it up with Ivan. We don’t need a war.”

                “You never answered about the chess,” Alfred prompted Arthur when he didn’t address it. The queen paused and then set down his embroidery.

                “Very well, I will play a game,” he said, getting to his feet. A grin flashed across Alfred’s face. Maybe fixing their marriage would be easier than he’d feared.

                “Excellent! This way then.” He had to remind himself to slow his step to keep pace with Arthur, and they went up to the library for the chess table.

                “White or—?”

                “White,” Alfred answered before Arthur even finished asking the question. He should’ve known; Alfred was almost always white, unless Arthur decided to be difficult and argue for it. Rolling his eyes slightly, Arthur pushed the white pieces over to Alfred and began to set up the black ones.

                “Do you remember all the rules?” he asked.

                “Of course I do,” Alfred replied. “I play with other people, you know.” He moved a knight first, as he usually did. Arthur constantly told him to make better use of his pawns.

                “Did you or the Seven of Hearts win last time?” Arthur asked, moving a pawn out.

                “We never finished,” Alfred said. “I mentioned giraffe Jack Yao had brought back and she wanted to go see it, so we left the game.”

                “Yao does have an abundance of connections in odd place of the world,” the queen muttered, shaking his head.

                “I think he got it from down in the far southwest region,” Alfred said. “He had been telling me about the sorts of strange animals that are down there. Not so much stranger than Diamonds’ peacocks though, I think! Did you know Francis has twelve of them at Crystallides?” Arthur snorted.

                “That man knows nothing that is not excess. That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

                “Maybe it was Lili who wanted them,” Alfred suggested. Whenever the four monarchs were together, he tried to be friendly to Lili. It took some time to get through her shell, but Alfred’s sincere amiability made him well-suited for that task.

                “I doubt it. She has more sense than her husband,” Arthur said, taking one of Alfred’s mislaid pawns.

                “Why do you dislike him so much?” Alfred asked thoughtfully, after moving a bishop forward.

                “A thousand reasons,” Arthur said so sharply Alfred almost regretted bringing it up. “He’s arrogant and vain and thoughtless; he has no sense of caution or frugality; he’s obsessed with his image and he feels the need to constantly make himself as irritating as possible in my presence.” When he looked up and noticed how Alfred’s lips were twisted with amusement, he scowled and snatched another one of Alfred’s pawns.

                “Sometimes I think you get pleasure from arguing,” Alfred commented, taking an errant rook of Arthur’s.

                “That’s preposterous,” Arthur said, forming a fist beneath his chin and gazing more intently at the chessboard. Ace Yao had once told Alfred that distracting his opponent was a good way to win, and it seemed like that was the case. “Who on Earth _enjoys_ arguing?”

                “You, from the way things appear,” Alfred told him, shifting his knight away from Arthur’s bishop. “And Ivan, judging by the impudent letters he sends me. I’m not entirely sure our Jack is above a hearty bickering either.”

                “Is this what you spend your time on? Contemplating who likes to fight?” Arthur continued to scrutinize the board and Alfred shrugged.

                “Not a lot of time,” he said, moving his knight again. Arthur had always criticized him for favoring the piece, but he’d gotten quite good at wielding it. “Just observations.”

                “Make sure you are as _observant_ when you are meeting with the diplomats,” Arthur advised, moving his queen away from the white knight’s advance.

                “I will try, my queen.”

                In the end, Alfred won the game.

                “Ha! I told you I have been playing!” Alfred’s attempt at stoic silence during the game dissolved as soon as he’d grabbed Arthur’s king off the board. Arthur scowled, torn between some sort of pride, since he had taught Alfred how to play, and irritation at losing. “Want to play again?” He twirled the black queen between his fingers and gave Arthur a cocky grin, eyes flashing behind his glasses.

                Chess was something he’d taken to at once. For as much as he struggled with his lessons, Arthur had seen little purpose in teaching his idiot king, but he made the effort anyway, and Alfred had been shockingly adept. Once he remembered how the pieces moved, he was a force to be reckoned with, even giving Jack Yao a run for his money, and destroying Ace Lukas within a few months of learning the game. It was this that had first suggested to Arthur that Alfred was not as stupid as he might appear at first blush. A king had no need for a head for figures, but strategy—that was valuable, should the current peacetime between the Four Kingdoms dissolve.

                “This time I’ll teach you a lesson,” Arthur promised, grabbing his pieces back to set them up again. With a victorious smirk, Alfred handed back the king and replaced his own pieces.

                “We shall see about that.” The second game ended in a prolonged draw, and Alfred won the third as well.

                “Has Yao been teaching you?” Arthur asked, squinting suspiciously at Alfred as he sat back in his seat, the rubble of his defeat spread out over the board, a treasure trove of black chess pieces before Alfred.

                “I beat him last week,” Alfred said with a self-satisfied smile. “Twice in a row.” He’d beaten Yao a few times in years past, but sometimes it felt like a mere fluke. Now it was because he was good enough to.

                “Hm. If only your reading was as good as your chess,” Arthur remarked, but Alfred could tell he was impressed, and that made him feel quite smug. It wasn’t often that Arthur was impressed with anything.

                “That’s what I have Yao for,” Alfred declared, waving a hand. “Reading is for nobles.” Arthur rolled his eyes and Alfred got to his feet. “Thanks for the games, my lord.” Arthur nodded.

                “My pleasure.” The words tumbled out of his mouth.

                “Do let me know if you ever want a rematch,” Alfred added, grinning.

                “Do not let yourself think just because you won today you will win next time,” Arthur warned, pointing a finger at him. “The key to games is not being complacent.”

                “I didn’t know you were so fond of games, my lord,” Alfred teased his staid husband.

                “I’m not,” Arthur said stiffly, tapping his fingers on the chessboard. “But somehow I end up playing them anyway.” Confused about Arthur’s reply, but not wanting to strain his queen’s company, Alfred took his leave, feeling a bit more optimistic about his partnership with Arthur. Maybe it wasn’t so far gone after all.

***

                “It’s not that simple!”

                “It _is_ that simple, Arthur!”

                “You have no idea what it’s like for me,” the Queen of Spades argued, digging his fingers into his upper arms. The crescents of his nails burrowed into his flesh through the thin white fabric of his shirt. “You know what could happen to me if we’re discovered, if…!”

                “You knew that when you got involved in this!” Francis snapped in a disagreement that was far too familiar for his taste.

                “No, you—seduced—coaxed—”

                “Don’t you dare blame this on me!” Francis hissed, conscious of their need to keep quiet even within the confines of Arthur’s bedroom. “I didn’t make you do anything!”

                “You got me involved in this in the first place!” Arthur jabbed an accusing finger at Francis, a very brief tremor going through his arm. “I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for you!”

                “And I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you!” Francis shot back. “We both acted with clear deliberation, Arthur, you can’t pretend we didn’t!”

                “Seduction!”

                Suddenly Francis sighed, wearying all at once of the argument, the ongoing fight, and Arthur’s constant jerking back and forth on his position. He dropped down on the edge of the bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand.

                “We can’t keep this up,” he said quietly.

                “What do you mean?” Arthur asked, his tone still on a precipitous edge.

                “I mean, you have to choose,” Francis emphasized, looking up. “You choose me, or you walk away. We can’t keep this up. I cannot keep being the target for all your anxiety and indecision. Either you want to be with me, and you accept the risks that come with it, or you leave it now and we agree never to speak of it again.”

                Arthur was silent, his pinched, mossy green eyes flicking over Francis, looking for some chink in his armor, some sign he wasn’t really going to throw this ultimatum down. There was nothing.

                “I don’t want this whole relationship to continue with you under the impression or even with the excuse in your mind that I forced you or tricked you into anything,” Francis went on when Arthur didn’t speak. “So I am asking you to make your own choice, of your own free will, right now. Yes or no.”

                “I cannot just…right now…so suddenly…” At once Arthur was full of excuses and ready to back out of the argument and let the issue rest. But Francis had been pushed far enough and he wanted his answer. He was tired of Arthur feeling he could excuse himself by claiming the affair was all Francis’ doing. They were both independent adults; he wanted their relationship to be a consensus of such adults.

                “I should imagine you have thought about it enough to know what your answer will be,” Francis speculated. “It’s just a matter of saying it.”

                “My choice doesn’t matter!” Arthur ejaculated, finding a new avenue of avoidance. “My fate has been writ since I was born, Francis!” One hand clawed at the Spades tattoo on his shoulder. “I am bound to Alfred and to Spades; it is my destiny.”

                “Your destiny! You Spades believe too much in fate,” Francis scoffed in dismay, shaking his head. “What of the Clubs? What is their fate? What of Lili? What was hers? Was it always to be the queen? Or only once the tattoo had been stamped on? Even her visions may change!”

                “I don’t know, but they don’t matter right now,” Arthur snapped hotly, his jaw working in frustration. “My fate is clear, and it always has been. You cannot ask me to deviate from it.”

                “How can you deviate from your fate?” Francis asked, relentlessly holding Arthur’s eyes no matter where the queen looked. “Your fate is what you _choose_ Arthur, don’t you see? You make your fate, or you follow it, or however you want to think of it, but your fate cannot be changed no matter what you choose. Whichever choice you make is the one you were supposed to make. If you choose to walk away, then that was your destiny. But if you choose to stay, who can say that wasn’t your path all along?”

                “My fate to be unfaithful to my king, my husband!” Arthur laughed derisively. “What a destiny! That sounds an awful lot like treason, Francis.”

                “Call it what you want, do you disagree? Do you not think it is possible? You wouldn’t be the first royal to carry on an affair,” he pointed out. They held a look for a long moment, pushing back and forth wordlessly. Arthur found no yield in Francis’ deep blue gaze. He turned roughly away with a harsh breath.

                “This is not fair,” he objected, fixing his weakening glare on the blooming roses out in the grounds. A servant puttered around in his view, trimming the bushes here and there. Arthur’s eyebrows worked together and he tapped one finger on the edge of the window well. “You know what my answer must be.”

                “I do,” Francis agreed willingly, rising to his feet, but keeping his distance. “But I want to hear it from you before anything else happens. I want to know, whatever the future may bring, your choice was your choice, and yours alone.”

                Arthur drew in a deep breath through his nose and then turned to face Francis, his expression no longer wrought with distress or indecision.

                “Of course I choose you,” he said straightforwardly, for once. “I did from the beginning, didn’t I?” There was an almost imperceptible relaxation in Francis’ shoulders as Arthur confirmed what the king had desperately hoped was true. Arthur took a few steps towards him, and Francis met him, pulling the Spade into his arms as their lips pressed together for several long moments. Francis’ could feel Arthur’s arms tighten around his waist, and he leaned further into the kiss. One hand worked its way into Arthur’s rough blond hair, curling around the tangles in it. When they broke apart, they paused, their lips so close Francis could feel Arthur’s breath against his face. “I love you, Francis,” Arthur whispered. His hand tightened on Francis’ back, gathering the fabric beneath his fingers. “If I can choose my fate, I choose you.”

                Francis’ lips twitched in a smile and he let out a lightly trembling breath, feeling another wave of relief as Arthur confirmed for him again, his choice. “I choose you too, my love,” he said, stroking Arthur’s cheek. “I will always choose you.”

                “You’d better.” They shared a nervous laugh and kissed again.

                “I will. No matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/148257049885/heavy-is-the-crown-ch-6)


	8. Requiem of a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The inevitable comes

Francis was in his office when the Leading Minister came to speak to him. They had arranged the meeting, but by the cagey behavior of the ministers when they proposed it, Francis had an unpleasant feeling he knew what it was about.

                Eight Angelique, the trusted head of his advisory council, dragged her feet as she made her way up to his desk.

                “My dear minister. Please, sit,” Francis said, sweeping a hand towards an available chair. “Would you like me to call for tea or wine?”

                “No, thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, shaking her head and taking a deep breath.

                “You’d prefer to get down to business?” he guessed, sitting up straighter in his seat.

                “If Your Majesty has no objections,” she confirmed with a small nod. Francis made a motion with his hand and she went on. “The ministers have met and we…we must again raise the concern over Diamonds’ lack of an heir,” she confessed. This was far from the first time the topic had come up, and by now all the ministers knew the king had a strong distaste for the discussion, but as the problem went on, so must the talk.

                Francis sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand. “What have they to say this time?”

                “Diamonds must have an heir,” she reported dutifully. It was the same thing she said every time they had this meeting. “The longer we go without, the more vulnerable our kingdom becomes.” Another sigh from the king.

                “I know.” And he knew about the rumors swirling around their failure to produce a child as well—most frequently it was said Francis was impotent, or incapable of producing a child, but in the last couple of years, it had also been said that Queen Lili was infertile, that she forbade the king from her bed, that she had miscarried and refused to conceive again. All sorts of things; Francis hated the rumors about himself and how they wrenched his pride, but it was worse to hear whispers about Lili.

                The discomfort on the Eight’s face made it clear she didn’t want to give any credence to these rumors, but when Francis consistently failed to produce a result, it was hard for the ministers not to wonder.

                “We are loath to bother Your Majesty, but you can see why it is a concern…”

                “Here, Angelique, I promise you I will go about attempting to remedy the situation as soon as humanly possible,” he said, folding his hands on the desk as he promised to have sex with his wife.

                “Yes, thank you Your Majesty,” she said, ducking her head. Even now Francis thought what an _odd_ conversation it was.

                After he’d dismissed Eight Angelique, Francis reluctantly went in search of Queen Lili.  He found her in her sitting room, embroidering a detailed handkerchief.

                “My lady.” He stood at her threshold until she looked up and gave him a nod, bidding him enter. He took a seat on one of her cream-colored couches. “What are you working on?” he asked.

                “A handkerchief for Lady Adelaide,” she replied, her attention focused on what she was doing. “I fear she will be having a hard time soon, so I thought I would make her something.”

                “Is that so?” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

                “Yes…” Lili pursed her lips and gave the thread a tug. “Financial troubles, I’m afraid. Their lands have been handled poorly and haven’t been producing the way they should. I fear it will be causing them real trouble shortly.”

                “That’s unfortunate. It’s thoughtful of you to make her something though,” he remarked.

                “I hope she’ll think so…” Sunlight streamed through a window behind the couch Francis sat on, lighting up Lili’s sitting room, in so many shades of off white, pastel rose and faded yellow. Francis was struck for a moment by how beautiful the scene was. Lili herself had become a lovely, if unassuming, young woman; the sun hallowed her braided crown of wheat-colored hair. After a few minutes, Lili seemed to remember Francis was there. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?” she asked, looking up.

                “Hm? Oh, yes.” Shaking himself from his daydream, Francis forced himself to broach the subject. “Eight Angelique came to meet with me today,” he told her.

                “Oh yes? What did she have to say?” Lili glanced down at her embroidery.

                “The ministers remain concerned with the issue of a successor,” Francis sighed, dragging a hand down his face, tugging at his short beard. “And this time…I am sorry, my lady, but I’m inclined to agree with them. At some point…we must have an heir.”

                Lili’s hands stilled and she watched her knees. “I can’t argue with that,” she conceded after a long moment. “We would be putting the kingdom at risk if we never did.”

                “Exactly. We must have someone to sit the throne when I pass.” Not a pleasant thought to think about, but it was necessary. Lili sighed.

                “We have gotten so in the habit of putting it off, I haven’t really thought about it in years,” she admitted. “But having a baby wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” She looked up and offered Francis a little smile. “It might be nice to have a child in the palace.”

                “I suppose…it could be nice,” he agreed, surprised. They’d avoided the issue so much, they’d refused to even think about it. Francis had never genuinely considered what it would be like to have a family with Lili. They both lapsed into an awkward silence, and then Lili spoke again.

“I have…a good feeling,” she said, touching the center of her chest lightly. “I think it’s a good choice, my lord.” Lili’s perceptions weren’t always right, but it comforted Francis still.

 “Do you think…tonight? Or tomorrow?”

                “Tonight,” Lili replied quickly. She paused, and then repeated, “Tonight. Let us take care of it tonight.” Francis nodded in agreement.

                “Alright. I’ll leave you in peace then,” he said, getting to his feet.

                “You can stay,” Lili said, looking up. “Emma’s out of town and Fatima is busy preparing for her mother’s visit. I wouldn’t mind some company.” Francis smiled; he rang a bell for tea and took up his seat on the couch again.

                That night, when Francis arrived in Lili’s room, she was sitting on her bed with a book. He’d spent many nights in her room before, to deter suspicion that he wasn’t sleeping with her at all, but they usually just read and talked a bit and went to sleep. Now came the consummation of their marriage, eleven years after they’d been wed.

                Francis slipped off his robe and climbed into bed, settling back against the pillows.

                “How do you want to do this?” he asked.

                “What do you mean?”

                “Do you want to…do it as we normally would, if we were choosing it, or just get the act over with?” Lili nibbled her lower lip.

                “I don’t know. What’s the difference?” she asked.

                “I could try to make it enjoyable, or I can get it over with as quickly as possible,” he explained.

                “I guess…do it how you normally would,” she decided. “That will be easiest, won’t it?”

                “As long as you’re okay with it,” he said, leaning in and cupping her cheek. After a pause, he kissed her lips, gently at first, then with more pressure.

                Once they got into it, it seemed to go smoothly enough, though Francis had to pause to explain a few things to Lili. He made sure she finished as well though, so she got something out of it, and he was very gentle with her (to the point she had to assure him he wasn’t hurting her and she wasn’t, in fact, made of glass, or fifteen years old anymore). When they were done, Francis rolled onto his back on the bed beside her.

                “Lili, I have to tell you something,” he said. Dim candlelight from the dying candles flickered off the daisy-shaped hairclips holding Lili’s hair out of her face.

Lili, staring up at the canopy of her bed, trying to process everything that had just happened, replied: “What is it?”

“I’m having an affair.”

“I know,” she said. “Francis, you have been having affairs since we were married.”

“This one is worse than the rest,” he said, guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind. “I…I’ve done something stupid, Lili.” Lili propped herself up on one elbow and moved a pillow out of the way to look at him.

“What is it, Francis?” she asked warily.

“My affair…it’s with the Queen of Spades,” he confessed weakly, turning to look at her with aching blue eyes.

“Oh, Francis,” Lili cried quietly. She dropped her face down into one hand, squeezing her eyes shut. “Oh, _Francis_.”

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded. “I…I just…”

“Oh Francis, you could have anyone in the kingdom! Why would you go after someone from another one? And a _queen_! How could you be so foolish?” Even Lili’s scolding voice wasn’t harsh, and Francis almost wished she’d scream at him and get some sort of catharsis out of it.

“I would say I didn’t mean to, but that would be a lie,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “I pursued him even when he told me to let it lie.”

“ _Why_ , Francis?” she asked insistently. “Why would you do that?” Even if she didn’t call him a witless fool, she must have been thinking it. Even Francis knew how idiotic what he was doing with Arthur was. “I warned you I had seen a cloud in your future!”

“There was just…something about him,” he said quietly, taking his turn to stare up at the bed canopy. “He found a nook in my brain and once he got in, he wouldn’t go. I felt as though I had to speak to him again, or some part of me might die. I was so infatuated, Lili. I acted the part of a moonstruck girl and now…”

“Now what?” she demanded. “What’s happened? Has something happened, Francis?”

“No, I…I just felt you deserved to know. I do not like keeping secrets from you, you are my wife.”

“How long have you been with him?” she asked, tossing her braid over one shoulder, finding the brush of it against her neck an irritant suddenly.

“…six years,” he admitted in a low voice.

“Six _years_?” Lili’s eyes were full moons. “And no one’s found you out? In all this time?” Francis shook her head.

“We have been very careful,” he said, turning to look at her again. “Always.” Lili sighed and sat up, trying to wrap her mind around everything that was going on today.

“So many years…My apprehensions! Oh, my premonitions…they were about you, weren’t they?” She paused, rubbing her eyes in lamentation over the years of confusion suddenly solved, and then asked: “Do you love him, Francis?” Francis bit his lip and nodded.

“Yes,” he whispered. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. I truly am sorry though Lili, I never…I never thought it would go on this long, or that we would…become as attached as we are…I swear, though, my promise to you still stands. I will not let any harm come to you as a result of this.”

“Oh Francis, how can you make such a promise now?” she asked, lifting her head. “Not everything is in your control.”

“But some things are,” he insisted, raising himself up on his elbow and taking one of her hands. “As long as I am king, you will be queen, and as long as you have that tattoo, you will be taken care of. I promise you that.”

She met his gaze with troubled, doubtful eyes. She wanted to believe what he said was true, but if King Alfred ever found out about this, she couldn’t imagine he’d let it go easily.

“The child will help,” he went on when she said nothing. “No one has any reason to suspect Ar—the Queen of Spades is unfaithful. And when we have a child, our marriage will be above reproach.” Once they had an heir, it didn’t really matter how many affairs Francis had—no child produced from one of those unions would be born with the royal tattoo, so there was no question about succession.

“I suppose that’s true,” she said, her gaze turning thoughtful. “But…Francis, please promise me…if it starts to cause trouble, you will stop.” Francis’ eyes moved away. His heart constricted at the thought of making any such promise, that he would end things with Arthur. But he knew he owed it to Lili; his duty was first and foremost to her and to Diamonds…he was taking more than his share by pursuing this relationship with Arthur, it was his responsibility to surrender it if it ever conflicted with his job.

“I promise.”

Lili relaxed, nodding. She took her hairclips out and blew out the candle so they could go to sleep. “And Francis?”

“Yes?” came the response from the darkness.

                “Thank you for telling me. I do trust you to be honest. I wish you had told me sooner, but I am glad you did.”

                “Of course, my queen,” he replied.

***

                In midwinter of that same year that Francis came clean to Lili, he finally persuaded Arthur to come visit Diamonds and get out of the incessant winter rains and winds of Spades. The amount of lying involved in pulling the trip off was truly spectacular:

                Arthur told Alfred he was going to visit his so-many-times-removed cousin Matthew in the Kingdom of Diamonds, and Francis persuaded Matthew to lie for him about this without ever really explaining why. Matthew was a nice lad, he wouldn’t ask questions or gossip (hopefully). Arthur’s valet took him as far as the border of Diamonds, where one of Matthew’s carriages picked him up, driven by one of Francis’ drivers, and took him far down into the south of Diamonds, where the king and queen had a vacation home.

                Lili was the only one who knew the truth. Since confessing to her, Francis had promised to keep her informed of anything he was doing in regards to Arthur. It was only fair, he thought, since she hadn’t demanded he immediately put an end to the relationship, which he didn’t think he could do even if she asked (which perhaps was why she had not bothered).

                As Arthur moved towards Francis, already set up in the vacation home, the weather grew steadily sunnier and warmer, until you would never guess it was winter time. The house itself was, of course, much smaller than Crystallides, but still showcased Diamond royalty’s impressive penchant for opulence, as well as their incredible wealth. No one could doubt they were the so-called “kingdom of merchants”.

                Francis warned Arthur to dress down and keep his Spades mark covered at all times; the regrettable thing about being royalty was that even when they were in privacy from other nobles, there were still the servants. The lie that they were led to believe was that Francis was indeed here to meet with one of his paramours, but just some random fellow. None of them had ever met the Queen of Spades, so there was no reason to believe they would recognize Arthur.

                On Arthur’s arrival, he was sent upstairs to audience with the King of Diamonds while his things were unloaded and taken to his room. Francis was at a desk in his library, only “working” by the merest appearance; he was all tensed up and waiting for Arthur to arrive, as he was set to come in today or the next. At the sound of footsteps, he snapped his head up, as he had done every time the sound of feet had reached his ears that afternoon. He’d learned to memorize the bursting floral patterns carved into the white double doors and snaking around the matching bookshelves. This time, though, it was at last his beloved.

                Arthur shut the doors behind him as he entered, anticipating a greeting from Francis. He was not disappointed: Francis crossed the hydrangea-patterned carpet quickly and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, kissing him so enthusiastically he lifted Arthur up onto his toes, and then had the audacity to spin him around once before letting go.

                “It’s good to see you, my jewel,” he breathed. A shiver went through the queen and although he tried to look offended about being manhandled, he didn’t move away.

                “It’s certainly nice to be around of the rain, though from the heat here you’d think it was July,” he remarked.

                “How good to hear you have missed me as much,” Francis responded pointedly. Arthur rolled his eyes a little and stepped in to kiss Francis lightly.

                “You know I did,” he scolded quietly. “Of course I did.”

                “I like hearing you say it.”

                “You like hearing me make a fool of myself for you,” Arthur corrected, giving Francis’ cravat a sharp tug. The king grinned.

                “Yes, I admit that is a nice bonus,” he said, his eyes sparkling. “It never does get old.” Arthur jerked on Francis’ cravat again.

                “Fine. I missed you, are you happy?”

                “Unbelievably so, little bunny,” Francis said, watching Arthur’s cheeks flush at the sappy nickname. It was Francis’ preferred nickname for Arthur, but something he only used in the most private of moments. Arthur loved it, but he hated that he loved it and he would sooner jump off the astronomy tower of Spades castle than let anyone else hear him called that. This time he pulled so hard on the poor cravat Francis’ head jerked forward and he was afraid it might’ve been ripped.

                “Stop that, you sound like an idiot,” Arthur said, walking away, but only making it a few steps.

                “Aren’t you happy?” Francis asked in a sly voice, creeping up behind Arthur and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Are you not thrilled, titillated, ecstatic to see me?” He rested his chin on Arthur’s shoulder.

                “Are you just trying to show off that you learned some new words?” Arthur asked, his eyes sliding shut halfway. “I’m not impressed.” Francis kissed his cheek with a loud smooching sound.

                “I’ll have to make up for that later then,” he said with a roguish grin, squeezing Arthur in his arms. Another little shiver went through the queen and Francis felt him just slightly lean back against Francis. “For now, though,” he said in a calmer voice, “I thought we could go walk in the garden. We received a very nice bunch of sunflowers from the King of Clubs a few years back and I’ve been told they’re growing very well.”

                “Haven’t you gone to look yourself?” Arthur asked.

                “I wanted to look with you,” he replied. They went out to the grounds and Francis pulled Arthur into the maze of banana-yellow sunflowers, where he kissed him plenty and, laying in the warm grass, let Arthur sit across his lap while he admired the way the sun glowed through Arthur’s sticking-up hair. It felt like something out of a dream, being so open with their affection outside one bedroom or the other. For so long their relationship had been confined to bedrooms and whispers and letters penned in secret; to have it outside of those strict guidelines made it feel more real, somehow. Francis was full of giggles and smiles and even Arthur found himself laughing more easily than usual.

                That night after dinner, Arthur had grown antsy, and they didn’t even make it to Francis’ bed. In the entry to his chambers, he pinned Arthur against the wall, and had him there until he knew he’d be sore from holding Arthur’s weight up so long. That didn’t stop him from taking his lover again in the bed a half an hour later, or again in the morning, slow and gentle and easy, when they woke.

                One sunny morning, they were out on the gazebo having tea and lemonade while Francis drew and Arthur embroidered (Francis had noticed both his wife and his lover had this hobby).

                “Your hair is getting long,” Francis commented, watching Arthur needle another petal onto his tulip. A server placed a fresh dish of fingers sandwiches on the table.

                “I know,” Arthur sighed. “I keep meaning to get it cut, but I never seem to find the time.”

                “I could do it,” Francis offered suddenly. His royal barber was back at Crystallides, of course, but how hard was cutting hair?

                “You?” Arthur looked up with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

                “Yes,” Francis asserted. “I could do it for you.” Arthur relaxed again and shrugged, going back to his embroidery.

                “If you want to.” All of a sudden enthusiastic about this plan, Francis sent a servant to collect some scissors and a towel to put around Arthur’s shoulders.

                “How short do you want it?” He asked when he had the shears in his hand.

                “I don’t know, how it usually looks,” Arthur said indifferently, punching the needle through his fabric.

                “You’ll have to look up, dear,” Francis said, combing Arthur’s hair as flat as he could. Arthur sighed and complied, tapping a finger on the arm of the chair. Putting the comb down, Francis got to work snipping away. “So…you never told me if you found a solution to the squabble between Three Jack and Four Jamie,” he said.

                “Oh, that.” Arthur closed his eyes. “I told them if they did not find a compromise, I would reclaim the land for the state, and they didn’t, so I did.” Francis snickered and the snip-snip of the shears was accompanied by the distant chirping of birds and crickets.

                “You sound like a mother scolding her children,” Francis said.

                “I _feel_ like that,” Arthur complained. “These are grown men! Jamie is older than I am! They should be able to solve their problems on their own! Not come running to the queen,” he grumbled.

                “Well you sure showed them they need to behave,” Francis said, suppressing the amusement in his voice. Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat, and Francis realized he was falling asleep. Letting the conversation go, he went on trimming Arthur’s hair, only waking him when he was finished. He handed Arthur a mirror and the queen looked positively scandalized.

                “It looks _awful_! Francis, what the hell did you do?” he demanded, spinning around in his seat to the sheepish King of Diamonds.

                “Trimmed it? Oh come on, I think it suits you,” he argued, trying to smooth Arthur’s hair with the comb again.

                “I cannot believe this!” Arthur scrutinized himself in the mirror again.

                “You let me do it,” Francis pointed out, just to absolve himself of any guilt.

                “I thought you knew what you were doing!”

                “Well that was _your_ mistake.” Arthur scowled at him and Francis’ lips twitched, right before he burst into laughed.

                “You fiendish cad!” Arthur hit him with the mirror, which actually hurt.

                “Aie! Arthur, no, I’m not laughing at you,” Francis wheezed, grabbing the back of the chair. “I swear—”

                “Shut up! I am never letting you touch my hair again! And you had better expect to sleep on your own tonight!”

                “Arthur, wait!” Francis was still giggling when Arthur strode out of the gazebo, throwing the towel aside in a snit.

                Francis made it up to him the next day by buying him a very expensive hat in town, and even Arthur wasn’t willing to spoil the rest of their short vacation by being angry at Francis for the rest of it over something as impermanent as a haircut. Although he did forbid Francis from ever trying to modify his appearance again.

***

                Lukas had been monitoring the queen’s post.

                Six Huyen coming the same conclusion that he had had reassured the Ace he wasn’t just imagining odd things about Queen Arthur’s behavior. But then she’d gone and told and botched Lukas’ plans; he’d almost given up on investigating entirely. King Alfred’s reactions had put a firm nix on anyone suggesting Arthur was unfaithful (though some unfortunate had made a jest of it at a ball and had not since been invited back).

                But then he’d had the idea about the post. If the queen was having an affair, they had to communicate somehow? It was entirely possible they didn’t use the normal post, but it was worth a look. And when Lukas looked into it, he found that Queen Arthur received regular letters from outside the kingdom, and replied as often.

                Now Lukas’ job might have become nothing more of a formality (he glowered at the back of Jack Yao’s head every time they passed in the hall), but he was still paid the healthy stipend for his position. So with a healthy bribe to an educated page, he had someone to steal the queen’s incoming letters, pen copies, and slip the originals back into place before the queen knew they had come in. The letters were awfully damning evidence, peppered all over with declarations of affection, love and desire from a ‘Francis’. The first time Lukas had received a transcript from his page, he’d nearly shouted with glee—the signature matched the name Arthur had cried out when ill that had first aroused Lukas’ suspicion some…what was it, three years ago now?

                But Lukas was a careful man, and twice as careful about this now that Huyen had been shut down so thoroughly. He wasn’t going to say anything until he could concretely prove that Queen Arthur was unfaithful, and with a man from a foreign kingdom—he needed a letter from Arthur to Francis. Because while Francis’ letters painted a fairly clear picture, Lukas knew there was still room for the king to deny it—without proof that Arthur was responding to Francis’ letters, Lukas’ grounds weren’t firm. 

                He was determined to prove it though. He collected every scrap of evidence he could—the odd hours Queen Arthur kept, the letters, the ring the Six had found. Jack Yao prided himself on being able to inform the king and queen of everything (that is, everything he chose to share), but this was something Lukas was sure he hadn’t caught wind of yet. He was going to be the one to unveil this secret, and Yao would be the one with the rug pulled out from under him for once!

                It took six months of gathering evidence before Lukas’ page had a chance to get his hands on one of Queen Arthur’s outgoing letters. On his way to deliver it, the queen had been called in a hurry by the king, and with too many other things to do that day, he was glad to pass the letter off to page to send out. Lukas’ page made an effort to be around Queen Arthur as much as possible, particularly when he was preparing or retrieving letters. In triumph, he took the letter straight to Lukas without copying it first.

                “I have one of the queen’s letters!” the boy gasped in excitement as he burst through the door to Lukas’ office.

                “Outgoing?” Lukas demanded, looking up from his genealogy study.

                “Yes!” Lukas jumped to his feet and snatched the letter out of the page’s flailing hand. He made to rip it open, then stopped himself. Caution. He took it to his desk and, with a penknife, carefully pried the seal off the lower half of the letter, so it could be stuck back in place later, without the appearance of a broken seal. He noted that Queen Arthur had not used his own personal seal, but merely the general seal of Spades. Disguising his identity?

                As he scanned it, his mouth twisted into a frown. There were many suggestive things, but nothing as clear-cut and condemning as he had hoped for—no confessions of love, no reminiscence about past trysts, no mention of future meetings. Throwing it down in disappointment he said: “Copy it and send it.”

                “Will you take action now, my lord?” the boy asked.

                “No. We need stronger proof,” Lukas said, shaking his head. “Keep watching the queen. You are doing well, but this is not enough.” And he continued to wait.

                It was another three months before his page got ahold of another of the queen’s letters. It wasn’t as neat as the last time—Queen Arthur had sealed the letter and been prepared to send it when he was called away from his desk; the page had darted in and replaced the letter with a fake, bringing the sealed envelope to Lukas for inspection.

                Again, Lukas carefully pried open the seal and read the contents. The barest hint of a devious smirk pulled at his mouth, stretching the scar across the left side of his lips.

                “I have him,” he whispered, his hands shaking. “I have him.” His breathing was coming rapidly now and he paced three times around his desk in quick succession. “Page! Page…I need an audience with the king. Immediately.”

                “You will go to the king now?” the page asked, wide-eyed.

                “Yes! We will strike now, before the iron is hot! Remember, we are not the only ones investigating,” Lukas warned. He was sure if Jack Yao had even the slightest suspicion of what Queen Arthur was doing, he was deep in his own investigation, and Lukas was determined to beat him to the punch.

***

                When Alfred’s guard let Ace Lukas into his office, the pale man said nothing. He came up to the desk with a great stack of letters and dropped them down on Alfred’s desk. On top, he threw, with a careless flick of his wrist, a newly opened, still folded letter.

                “I thought these might interest Your Highness,” he said.

                “What is this?” Alfred asked, picking up the folded letter, then the one beneath it. He began to scan the open one. “Is this my queen’s mail? What are you doing with it?”

                “These are copies, Your Highness,” Lukas explained. “Made of letters incoming to His Highness the queen. And that one,” he added, pointing to the folded letter in Alfred’s right hand. “Is a letter penned by His Highness this afternoon, in response to that letter.” He pointed to the one in Alfred’s left hand.

                “You have been reading the queen’s letters?” Alfred asked, frowning deeply. “That sounds very disrespectful, Lukas.”

                “I would never have done it if I did not think it was necessary,” Lukas said, bowing low. “Please, Your Highness, if you would simply look.”

                Alfred read first Francis’ letter and then Arthur’s reply. When Lukas looked back up, the king looked once more the boy he had been when he ascended his throne, struggling to understand what was being told to him.

                “What is this?” he asked quietly, looking Lukas straight in the eye.

                “I believe His Highness Queen Arthur is unfaithful to you,” Lukas said softly. “But I would not bring this news to you without proof. I submit also His Highness’ odd hours, and the ring Six Huyen presented three years past. Lastly, when His Highness was ill after returning from Clubs, he repeatedly cried out for a man named Francis, and wanted, in his delirium, to know why this man did not come to see him. It was this that first made me wonder, but I did not truly believe it—” what a lie, “—until I had more proof.”

                In the face of this growing pile of evidence, Alfred quailed. Becoming the King of Spades had been unquestionably the hardest thing he’d ever done—he had gone from a boy simply looking to meet his father’s expectations to a ruler of a vast, powerful nation, with responsibilities assailing him from all sides, nobles who wanted one thing but said another, peasants who wanted land and food or defense from this or that, and a court who wanted to be led by someone who knew what they were doing. Throughout all of that, Alfred had always known he could at least put his faith in Arthur—he was as loyal to Spades as Alfred, and had even led the kingdom in the three years between King Harold’s death and Alfred’s ascension to the throne.

                But how could he continue to assert his queen’s evidence when each time someone came to him about the queen, there was more evidence that Arthur was betraying him? Betraying Spades?

                The Ace waited in patient silence for Alfred’s response.

                “Bring me the queen’s maids and pages,” he said at last, his voice as firm as he’d hoped it would sound. “His valet too. I will have them all questioned. And the ring—that too.”

                Lukas nodded and ran off, leaving Alfred to read through the mountain of letters Arthur had received. The hand was unfamiliar, but the prose…Alfred was no fool—he could match the name and the word. This was Francis, King of Diamonds. He thought he would be surprised, but somehow it made perfect sense, and so it was not shocking at all. Who else wrote in such a way? All the arguments between Francis and Arthur…Alfred had always assumed they couldn’t stand each other. But then, what better cover?

                While Alfred questioned Arthur’s servants, he examined the ring he’d been so quick to dismiss earlier. On its own, it didn’t seem like anything conspicuous. But the name, tying in with the gem, and that two of his court members had come separately to the same conclusion…

                The last piece of damming evidence came from a maid, though the others had given plenty of tiny hints that all added up to one big equation. She asserted she had seen the King of Diamonds quitting Queen Arthur’s chambers very late one night after a gala, on her way back, she confessed with a blush, from a meeting with her own sweetheart. At the time, she explained, she hadn’t thought much of it, except that it was strange, so she didn’t report it to anyone. And, she added, looking at her feet, she hadn’t wanted to admit she’d been meeting a beau on royal property.

                It was all laid out in front of him and Alfred knew he had a choice. He could either willfully close his eyes, and be a cuckolded king, or he could take action and punish Arthur for what he’d done—was doing.

                He continued to twist the ring between his fingers, finding no sharp edges or rough points on the well-made piece of jewelry. Francis enjoyed only the best, he thought bitterly. He thought of the dances and conversations he’d shared with the king, and felt a flame of anger writhe in his chest. What had he done to either of them to warrant such a punishment? Such a humiliation? Well damned if he was going to take it lying down! He wasn’t going to be the baby-faced king people still accused him of being.

                Alfred rose to his feet and put the ring down. He called in the guards from outside.

                “Arrest the queen,” he told them. “He stands accused of treason.”

***

                The only thing that saved Arthur was the maid.

                She had served the queen for years and, a romantic at heart, she took a rush of pity on him for the situation he was in. It was all of his own doing, but her youthful heart couldn’t stand the sight of suffering, so when the servants were dismissed, she ran.

                Today he’d had a meeting with the Royal Children’s Welfare coalition within the Spade government council, and he had to be coming back soon. She raced out to the courtyard, but found nothing. Ducking back inside, she began to question anyone around about the whereabouts of the queen.

                “I must speak with him at once!” she begged one of the guards, but he insisted he didn’t know.

                “Queen Arthur will return when he returns, miss! We cannot disturb him in his meeting—” At that moment, there were the sound of footsteps entering the front hall. The maid turned and fell upon the queen at once.

                “Your Highness!” she cried, wringing her skirts. “Your Highness, I must speak with you!” Alfred’s guards were already marching towards the parliamentary building to arrest the queen, not knowing he had already departed, but they would figure it out soon enough. “Please, at once, Your Highness,” she pleaded.

                Something about the distraught girl must have gotten Queen Arthur’s attention, because he stepped aside to let her speak.

                “The king has ordered your arrest,” she told him breathlessly. “He’s sent troops to the parliamentary building now!” Arthur’s eyes flew open and for a second the only thing he could hear was his heartbeat, even though the maid was still speaking. He didn’t even bother asking why; he knew. That could be the only explanation. There was nothing else Alfred wouldn’t be willing to talk out.

                Arthur turned away from the maid and began to rush towards his room with clipped, tense strides. She was calling after him but his mind couldn’t make the connection between the noise he heard and what he should do (turn to listen).

                It was only a matter of minutes before the guards figured out he wasn’t at the parliamentary building and that he’d come back. The news had to spreading among the guards at the house already. The door to Arthur’s room swung shut and he hesitated only a second before making a beeline for the roses on his vanity. He took them from their vase and began to pluck the petals off one by one.

                Here it was then. They would come for him here, in his chambers. Alfred would lock him up in the cells that held thieves and rapists and political prisoners, on occasion. There would be a trial. But the evidence! Perhaps there wasn’t enough evidence…he didn’t know what they had found…He jerked a fistful of petals off a red rose and they sprinkled down over his feet. He could fight it, there was a chance…he could denounce Alfred’s claims, make him regret charging his queen…but then what? A life with a man who had tried to charge him with adultery? Ten, twenty, fifty years more, with this distrust always between them? Arthur didn’t realize he was breathing like a trapped bird until he flung his hand out and sent the vase flying into the ground, shattering against the floorboards.

                _I’ll protect you._

                What a farce of a promise! What was he going to do, charge in and forbid Alfred from rightfully charging Arthur with treason? He had no power here!

                _Not here_ , a voice in Arthur’s head said, _but in Diamonds…_

                He was grabbing his cloak and swapping his shoes out for his travel boots before he’d even made a decision. He stuffed a sack with valuables and swept out of his room, his hood pulled up over his face. As he stepped out into the courtyard, several guards ran past him, but they didn’t stop to look at him. He made straight for the stables.

                “You there! Have that horse saddled,” he ordered a stable girl when he entered, pointing at the horse next to his. Taking his own horse wouldn’t help disguise him at all.

                “Where you going Your Highness?” the lass asked as she reached for the saddle. “I heard you was in a bit of trouble…”

                “Just saddle it,” Arthur snapped. The stable girl’s natural subservience kicked in and she prepped the horse. Arthur noticed as he waited, shifting his weight from side to side, that a petal of one of his roses had caught in the braiding on his vest. He took it and closed his hand around it. When the stable girl was done, he tucked the petal into a pocket and swung himself up onto the horse, spurring it out. His heart beat a tattoo against his chest as he rode towards the courtyard gates, just waiting to hear the horns blow, to hear a shout and watch the wooden gates close before him. There was nothing, though and once he was through the gates, he spurred the horse to a sprint. He rode relentlessly on to Diamonds and he didn’t think his heart stopped hammering until he crossed the border into Diamonds. Momentary physical safety didn’t stop him though; he didn’t doubt Alfred was pursuing him. He kept on to Diamandis.

                The horse’s sides were lathered and it was wheezing by the time he catapulted off its side at Crystallides. He staggered up to the front doors, his legs numb and wobbling from three days on horseback. He pounded his fist on the door and when he tried the handle, realized it wasn’t locked. He pushed it open and stumbled into the entrance hall, where a guard was already coming to attend the knocking.

                “King Francis,” Arthur demanded. “I must speak with him.” He didn’t look like the sort who ought to be speaking with the king: he was spattered up to his waist with mud, his cloak still damp from a squall he’d come through earlier in the day, his voice hoarse, barely able to stand up straight for the aching in his legs.

                “His Majesty is not receiving guests at this time,” the guard informed him stiffly.

                “He’ll see me!” Arthur’s voice was nearly hysterical. “Tell him…tell him his help is needed!”

                “I must ask you to go. His Majesty is—”

                “Goddammit!” Arthur snarled. “I am the Queen of fucking Spades and I will see Francis _now!_ ” He threw back his hood. “Take me to him!” That got him, and the guard reluctantly brought Arthur into the royals’ living quarters. He sent a page ahead to inform Francis, and Arthur was let in to Francis’ chambers, for the first time, through the front door.

                “Arthur!” Francis rose from his desk; he was dressed down for the evening already, as they had dined earlier. “What are you doing—”

                “He knows,” Arthur interrupted. “He knows.” Francis froze. “He…ordered my arrest three days ago,” he forced himself to continue, rubbing his forehead. All at once, exhaustion hit Arthur like a runaway carriage and his knees buckled. Francis hurried forward and caught him, allowing the queen to slump against him. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and one hand fisted in the fabric of Francis’ nightshirt. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he whispered, realizing dimly that he was shaking.

                “You came to the right place,” Francis assured him, squeezing Arthur again him. Arthur hated being babied, but for once in his life, right now, he wanted Francis to say he would take care of everything. That Arthur didn’t have to worry, that it would be alright, that they’d think of something. “Take off this cloak, it’s wet,” Francis said. Dumbly, Arthur nodded. He straightened up and stripped the cloak off, followed by his muddy boots.

                “I should wash,” he said, looking down at himself. Francis nodded.

                “I’ll call a valet.” While he did that, Arthur took deep breaths and tried to consider his and Alfred’s options. A valet brought up a bowl of warm water, and Arthur cleaned himself up and accepted a pair of fresh trousers and a top from Francis.

                “He will pursue me,” Arthur informed Francis as he wiped his face off. “I do not know if he dares cross the border, but I have no doubt he was in pursuit when I left the Spades castle.”

                “We have not received any communications from Spades in the past three days,” Francis said, pacing around by his desk. Arthur could tell from the way Francis refused to stand still he was anxious. Even when he wasn’t pacing, he was tapping a finger against his thigh, or chewing a nail, or shifting his weight around on his feet.

                “You will,” Arthur warned. “He would do best to give you a chance to surrender me first.”

                “And then what?” Arthur paused, the washcloth dripping into the basin.

                “I really don’t know,” he said plainly. “Either he will continue to pursue my apprehension or…he will accept I have gotten beyond his grasp. Somehow I doubt it will be the latter.”

                “Well. We will concern ourselves with what Alfred might do when we receive his communication,” Francis decided. “Until then, we should rest, the hour is late.”

                “I will take my usual guest room,” Arthur said firmly. Francis didn’t protest, merely nodded. As much as Arthur had been relieved by Francis’ presence, he wanted to be alone to think. If Alfred did chase him down here, then it was he, Arthur, who had brought this on Diamonds. He had come to use Francis as a bulwark between himself and Alfred, and he knew Francis would never give in and allow Arthur to be harmed. In light of that, he couldn’t jump into bed with Francis and snuggle up with him for the night like this was some careless visit. It felt wrong.

                In the morning, as Arthur had predicted, a letter arrived from Spades. Alfred must have sent it just after Arthur’s flight.

                “Ah, here it is,” Francis said, unfolding the letter in the sitting room.

                “What, what is it? What does it say?”

                “It’s Alfred’s letter,” Francis informed him placidly. “He demands I surrender his queen to stand trial for treason, or he will come retrieve you himself.”

                “So what will you do?” Arthur’s back felt so rigid he was sure if someone were to touch him, he’d break into a million pieces.

                “Write him back, of course,” Francis said, rising to have a seat at the desk against the wall. “It will not do to keep him in the dark.”

                “But what will you _tell_ him?” Arthur demanded impatiently, digging his fingers into the palm of his hand.

                “That if he wants his queen, he must come and claim him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes down at last
> 
>  
> 
> [On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/148945001615/heavy-is-the-crown-ch-7%22)


	9. The Play Concludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Francis settle their disagreement

His footsteps echoed hollowly off the vaulted ceiling, filling the great hall with much too little noise. The whole palace was too quiet today, it was unnatural and it unnerved him, even though he had been the one to clear it out. He found himself, strangely enough, wishing for Lili’s presence at his side. He found she had a clarity of thought often not found in his other advisors and courtiers, even outside her various premonitions. But if she were here now, he would be able to feel her disapproval, even if she were too polite to say it aloud, as she usually was.

                She was right to disapprove. What he was doing was insane, even Francis knew that. Even Arthur disapproved, not that that had stopped him from coming. Francis had send Margot to occupy the Queen of Spades with preparing their defenses, but he wasn’t wholly sure Arthur wouldn’t realize that was partly a ploy to keep him out of any confrontations that might take place in the coming hours.

                Francis’ long fingers traced the arm of the Diamonds throne as he approached, turned, and sat to face his empty court.

                “The Spades army is coming,” he said aloud. His voice was too soft even to make much of an echo. Suddenly, he felt very small and powerless. That he was one of four ruling monarchs in the world made no difference. He was as helpless to the winds of fate as the poorest peasant.

                That, though, like many things he thought to himself, was not entirely true. He had made choices. He had had many chances to turn away this fate, not least of all last week, when Arthur had ridden up to the palace in the middle of the night, cloaked and nearly bare of possessions outside his horse and a small satchel. Francis could have turned him away. Sent him back to Spades. Refused him sanctuary. Even now, he reflected, feeling oddly distant from the situation at hand, he could turn Arthur over and be done with it. King Alfred would march his army away, take his treasonous queen with him, and be gone. Everyone in his kingdom had advised him to do it. Even Arthur told him it was a fool thing to do, and he didn’t know why he’d come at all.

                Francis knew, but sometimes they agreed Francis knew Arthur better than Arthur knew himself. Even one as coldly logical as Arthur had a degree of self-perseveration (hence fleeing the Kingdom of Spades) and as much as he might pretend otherwise, he was, deep within, a romantic, and perhaps had some unconscious vision of at least dying closer to his heart’s desire (thus coming to Diamonds).

                And predictably, Francis chose the worst option, preferring a grand show of romanticism over logic or reason. In this case, though, Arthur’s life was in the balance and that made him curiously less likely to berate Francis for his poor choices.

                “As if I had a choice,” Francis whispered to himself, leaning back against the throne. He was given a choice that was no choice: Hand Arthur over or lose possession of his kingdom and most likely his own life. He had begged Arthur to take Margot and flee to the Kingdom of Clubs; as long as it was no risk for himself, he was sure King Ivan would shelter the troubled Queen of Spades for a while. And he always did love to butt heads with Alfred, whether the cause was worth it or not. But Arthur, as Francis had known he would, had refused. So Francis gave Margot orders to use the powerful sleeping draught the Ace had in her store of potions, as much as needed, and get Arthur out, if it came down to it. For now, though, they were busy with mounting the defenses that would be Diamonds’ last stand if it came to war. 

                Queen Lili had been sent away three days prior. Their conversation came to Francis’ mind again:

                He had brought her to the study where he and Arthur were considering their options. As soon as she had seen the Queen of Spades present, she knew something was amiss.

                “Francis, what is this?” she asked. Francis rose from his seat to address her.

                “King Alfred has called for the arrest of his queen on the grounds of treason,” he said quietly. Lili held his gaze for a long, silent moment. She didn’t say it was his fault, but her face did, and he could hardly argue with that.

                “What are you going to do?” she asked him at last. “I assume you have a plan.” Francis let out a quiet breath.

                “I can’t turn him over, Lili,” he said.

                “You would see our kingdom destroyed for a man,” she said, her voice harsher than Francis had ever heard it. “Whose life is in danger from choices you yourself have made.”

                “Would you have me turn him over, Lili? You know he will be killed!”

                “If you don’t, we will be killed!” One hand pressed against the boning of her stomacher, and the other curled into a frustrated fist. He could see in the furrow of her brow that she was angry with him for allowing them to be put into this position, but more than that, she was afraid because she already knew what his choice would be. But Lili was not a cruel woman, and she could not in good conscience tell Francis to give Arthur up to be killed.

                “I am determined that that should not be the case,” Francis said firmly. “Which is why Vash will be taking you to our palace in the south.”

                “And what of you?” she demanded. “What will become of you, Francis? And where will I go when you lose?”

                “Do you not have family in the Kingdom of Hearts?” he asked. Lili closed her eyes, her jaw clenched. Part of her wanted to keep fighting because it felt _good_ to finally tell Francis she was angry, but she knew their time was painfully limited and that wouldn’t help them come up with a plan.

                “King Ludwig is my cousin,” she said, resting a hand on her hip. “I could go to him.”

                “Do you think he’ll give you sanctuary?” Francis asked, while Arthur loitered off to the side, wishing he wasn’t party to this conversation.

                “He’s the only one who might,” Lili said bluntly. “I must trust him.”

                “I would beg your forgiveness, Lili—”

                “My forgiveness will not save us,” she interrupted him. She covered her eyes with one hand and folded her other arm over her stomach. “Francis…” What could she say that she hadn’t already? She knew of the affair long before, and she’d told him what she thought of it then! She lifted her head to look at him with an utterly defeated expression. “I’m with child.”

                “You are…?” Francis’ eyes widened; she’d succeeded in catching him off-guard, to be sure. Their efforts had finally yielded something; the council would be overjoyed if they weren’t facing certain destruction. “For how long…?”

                “Three months,” she said. “Or so the midwife tells me.” It was hard to say exactly. But if her memory about her monthly bleeding was correct, and the change in her gut wasn’t too many breakfast pastries, it was about three months on.

                “I will keep you safe,” Francis swore, taking a few steps towards her and reaching out for her hand. Lili drew away.

                “Please. I will take Vash to the south,” she said. “And you will do what you can here, and write me when and if you can. I have asked you already not to be foolish, but I implore you again: If not for me, for the child. For our kingdom. _Please_ , Francis, remember your duty.” He nodded solemnly, and both men felt shamed as the queen took her leave.

                Francis could only pray they were right and King Ludwig would give Lili asylum if necessary.

                “Your Majesty.” Francis turned, surprised, to see one of his foot soldiers on one knee. He’d been so absorbed in his own thoughts he hadn’t even heard the man approach. “The Spades army is at the city gates.”

                “Hm.” Francis took a deep breath and let it out, looking straight ahead, past the numberless soldier. “Let them in.”

                “Your Majesty?”

                “Let them in,” Francis repeated, rising to his feet. “I would treat with King Alfred, if he will talk with me.”

                For Diamonds to fire the first shot, or believe they could keep the Spades army out was the purest folly. The Kingdom of Diamonds didn’t even have a standing army, beyond what was necessary for the immediate defense of the castle. What was there now was what Francis had managed to raise in the week since Arthur’s arrival here, when he knew Alfred would be coming.

                That was the laughable thing about Francis’ attempt to stand up to the Kingdom of Spades: he didn’t have a chance. He had known the whole time he didn’t have a chance. The Kingdom of Diamonds had been built up by a merchant family and they maintained their alliance with gold and products; their strength had never come from their ability to fight. And yet, when Arthur had come to him in the dark with trembling hands but a steady voice, and told Francis they were found out, he had known with a sinking heart, his fate. He had seen his future written in those anxious, defiant green eyes and he knew he would not live to see the next harvest. Because he knew in his heart he could never turn Arthur away, or hand him over to Alfred, and he also knew he could not hope to win against the might of the Kingdom of Spades. His best—his only—option was to make pursuing Arthur such an unviable, expensive, troublesome option that Alfred would settle for exiling his queen—most likely after he had taken Francis’ head in battle for sheltering him.

                Alfred was a young king. He could not abide by treachery of the one closest to him; if he let Arthur walk free he would never again be respected or obeyed, not in his own kingdom nor anyone else’s. Whether or not he wanted to, he had to pursue the kingdom’s justice. Francis hoped he did so only out of this need, and not out of a true desire to seek vengeance for Arthur’s actions.

                “Go, tell the guard.” Francis waved a hand at the soldier as he descended the steps to the floor. Sunlight blazed through the tall windows, lighting the throne room up gold and red and orange. In his head, Francis recalled the beautiful string musicians that played here in the spring and summer, during the fantastic galas and masquerades.

                He and Arthur had met—truly met—at a masquerade.

                Oh, they had seen each other before at a few royal functions here and there, but long ago, and only briefly.

                At the Hearts masque, that was when they had truly met. Or more accurately, where Francis had seduced the man in the cat mask and they had shared a night of passion on a chaise lounge before Arthur awoke in the morning and saw what he had missed in the darkness and the blindness of his lust—the small orange diamond on the back of Francis’ hip.       

                That had been one of those points where Francis had a chance to turn away from the reality now staring him in the face—that should have been the end of it. But it couldn’t be, because neither of them had forgotten the night as they should, and the next time he was in the Kingdom of Spades, Francis couldn’t stop himself from seeking the queen out. After spurning his attention the whole of his visit, the Queen of Spades had abruptly shown up in his bedroom, throwing propriety to the wind in his need to be loved and wanted as a paramour, not merely treated with the respect and dignity of a queen.

                But of course, for the queen to sleep with another monarch was treason. It would cloud his judgement and his magical abilities with favor and concern for Diamonds, rather than keeping his alliance to Spades pure and untarnished.

                “Being queen isn’t bad,” Arthur had said, shaking his head during one of their early visits. “But there are…restrictions that come with it and…” He sighed.

                “You liked being in charge,” Francis had said, sliding a hand down Arthur’s back to grip his hip with some degree of possessiveness. “You like having the last word.” He had leaned in and nipped Arthur’s neck.

                “Throwing stones, Francis?” Arthur said, tilting his head ever so slightly to give Francis better access to his neck, where he loved best to be kissed. These things Francis uncovered easily. “I hardly see you keen to let an argument lie when you’re not utterly certain you’ve made your victory clear.”

                “Would you have been interested in speaking with me if I gave in so easily?” Francis’ face was poised just on the edge of amusement, predicting Arthur’s answer. Arthur looked at him a long moment and contemplated lying before he snorted and shook his head.

                “…why is everyone so convinced I can’t take pleasure in a conversation unless it’s combative? Four of Spades told me a few months ago they thought I would be better wed to someone who fought with me more.”

                “A pity royal marriages must be arranged,” Francis had lamented. In Spades, the process was set in stone; in Diamonds, there was more wiggle room, but the choice was still not on those to be wed.

                “It was my fate,” Arthur said with a shrug intended to be indifference. “It always was.”

                “Which is a terrible tragedy, my sweet wolf,” Francis said. He had all sorts of odd pet names common in the Kingdom of Diamonds that sounded odd to Arthur, but which he privately enjoyed very much. “A man like you is meant to be loved properly.”

                “Oh, do shut up. You blather on like some twit in a novel,” Arthur told him. “Just give me what we both want.” So Francis had kissed him and pulled him from the balcony into the bed, and they had forgotten about their fate to exist in two different worlds.

                In the main hall, Francis waited for the King of Spades. For a word. If Alfred would not treat with him, his last hope for a peaceful resolution was gone and it would be war. He turned to send someone to summon Angelique, his Eight of Diamonds, but found no one. He had sent away the servants as well; the fewer to suffer the consequences of his foolishness, the better. If he wanted Angelique though, he’d have to seek her out himself. Better to wait here for Alfred.

                It was more than an hour before the numberless soldier with a dark mustache returned, King Alfred’s army massing a few miles from Crystallides.

                “King Alfred has agreed to treat,” he said. “On the condition his king’s guard accompanies him.” Francis nodded agreement, but added:

                “Tell him there is no threat. We will not harm any man under the flag of truce.”

                So Alfred would come. There was a chance, then. Perhaps? Something to hope for. Francis tried to sit, but couldn’t stay still, so rose again and paced. When footsteps heralded the approach of Alfred and his king’s guard, he halted and stood at the head of the table. The double doors swung open and King Alfred strode in in his full battle regalia, dark blue in the tradition of Spades, the glove on his right hand opened on the back to show the mark of Spades on the back of his hand. The heels of his sleek black boots clacked sharply against the stone floor.

                “Where is my queen?” he demanded as soon as he stepped into the room. When he saw the room empty but for the King of Diamonds, he waved a hand at his king’s guard to direct them to stay in the hall. “You have him, don’t you?” Light falling through the tall, narrow windows lit up Alfred’s dirty blond hair.

                Francis examined Arthur a moment and then, seeming to deign him worthy of an answer, he nodded slowly. “I do.”

                “Give him to me,” Alfred said. “This is Spades business, Francis.” His bright blue eyes were dark with anger, something quite rare for the good-tempered king. He had liked Francis—and he felt betrayed by this.

                “I think I am already involved, Alfred,” Francis said carefully. He swiped the bottle of wine off the table that he’d left there and poured two glasses. “Can I offer you a drink? I did invite you to treat. I would have food, of course, but I’m afraid I sent the chefs away yesterday.”

                “I don’t want to treat with you,” Alfred said. “I wish to collect my queen and go.” Francis sighed heavily and sipped his wine, raising it up to see the glint of it in the afternoon light.

                “You know I cannot do that, Alfred,” Francis told him patiently.

                “You don’t have a choice!” Alfred’s gloved hand curled into a fist. “I have an army on your doorstep! You must hand him over or I will get him myself!” Francis almost smiled at the zeal of Alfred’s untested youth.

                “My dear king,” Francis said, turning his attention from his wine glass back to Alfred. “Do you really think that, having taken this so far as to have you here with your army, making these demands, that I would just hand Arthur over to you?”

                Alfred’s jaw worked for a moment and Francis saw he was conflicted. He wanted to save face in light of his queen’s treason, but even now he couldn’t hate Francis, not truly. It wasn’t in his nature, any more than it was in Francis’, but Francis’ natural reaction to fear—making light of the situation as if it were all in his favor—seemed to Alfred to be taunting him.

                “If I give him to you, he will die,” Francis said quietly, becoming serious.

                “He’s committed treason,” Alfred said stubbornly, but his eyes flicked away for a moment. He had never been good at hiding his emotions, especially to Francis’ keen, trained eye.

                “And yet I will face no punishment,” Francis said.

                “Not if you hand him over,” Alfred insisted, missing the point of Francis’ remark. Francis didn’t need to reiterate his earlier claim that wasn’t an option for him, he just looked at Alfred. That said as much. Alfred’s broad shoulders slumped and he laid his palms against the table top. “Just give him to me, Francis, he knew this risk when he started…sleeping with you!” Alfred’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

                “He told me,” Francis said. “I promised him I would offer him sanctuary here. So you see, I gave him my word. I can’t go back on that.”

                “Your kingdom will fall,” Alfred warned him, looking up at Francis from over the rims of his spectacles. “Your army has no chance. Are you really going to let your whole kingdom fall in bloodshed for one man?”

                “Queen Lili would agree with your logic,” Francis said honestly, shrugging. “As would Arthur, for that matter.”

                “Don’t speak to me of what Arthur would say,” Alfred snapped. “I know where he stands. And I note that he isn’t here.”

                “He’s with my Ace,” Francis said, taking another sip of his wine. He made another gesture towards it, to offer the other glass to Alfred, but the young king ignored it.

                “Beside the point. Are you really going to make me do this?” Francis sighed again. Outside, he heard one of the king’s guard rest his shield on the floor. He hoped it didn’t do any damage.

                “King or not, I’ve made my promises,” Francis said simply. He was signing himself up to go down as one of the most foolish, loathed kings in history, but his honor with Arthur was what really mattered to him now. Alfred stared him down, looking for a chink in his armor, a sign that the suave King of Diamonds was pulling another fast one on him. But there was nothing. For all intents and purposes, Francis appeared completely serious.

                “Just tell me one thing,” Alfred said, straightening up and becoming quite interested in the wall to his left. “Do you love him? Or is this all just another big game to you?”

                “I love him more than I love my own life,” Francis said quietly. He spoke with slow deliberation, having no intent to mince words here. “And I will die for him in this fight, when it comes down to it. I can’t stop you, I know that. But I will do my best, for Arthur.”

                “You would fight a fight you know you will lose, for what?” Alfred asked. “Have you lost your senses?” Francis shrugged.

                “Love makes lunatics and idiots of us all,” he said.

                “Dammit, Francis!” Alfred slammed his fist down on the table so loudly it startled even the poised King of Diamonds. There was the clatter of armor as the king’s guard outside shuffled and jumped to attention, wondering if they were about to be needed. “I don’t want to fight this fight any more than you do! But you would make me!”

                “I’m sorry, I truly am,” Francis said sincerely, his brow furrowed, a regretful frown on his face.

                “Not sorry enough to stop this though,” Alfred guessed bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut. “You know I have to fight. If I let Arthur go, I will lose control of the kingdom. No one will ever listen to me again; they will just see me as the weak boy king who let his willfull queen cuckold him.”

                “What if you had another choice?” Francis offered into the silence, his heart beating erratically somewhere in his throat. He had a thread’s breath of a chance at saving this situation, but he was going to try, by God, he was going to try to save his kingdom and his love.

                “There is no other choice!” Alfred’s back went rigid and he started pacing agitatedly. “You’ve left me no choices, Francis!”

                “You could exile him,” Francis suggested, seizing the chance to turn Alfred away from his warpath. “Exile him, strip him of his titles, his lands, his wealth…everything.”

                “He’s the royal heir!” Alfred exclaimed. That was true—Arthur was the trueborn heir to the Kingdom of Spades. The queen was always from the royal family, while the king was chosen from elsewhere in the kingdom—whomever had the mark of Spades.

                “Would that make a difference if he were to be charged with treason and executed?” Francis asked.

                “I can’t strip a royal heir of his title,” Alfred disagreed. “The kingdom would go into an uproar!”

                “They’re already in an uproar, my dear king,” Francis pointed out dryly. No one kept calm when the queen had been outed as carrying on a prolonged affair with another king and then fleeing to that kingdom with his husband’s army hot on his heels. “And even in Spades…there must be a method for removing a monarch.”

                “I don’t know that it’s ever been done,” Alfred said in a quieter, more thoughtful voice, thankfully not taking note or offense to Francis’ tone.

                “Be the first. Forge new ground. Think of it as being merciful,” Francis said, growing more insistent as Alfred at least considered the idea. He approached the other king, lowering his voice to a conversational volume. “You’re not letting him go, but you’re not killing him either.”

                “What about my queen, when Arthur is gone?” Alfred asked, shaking his head. “It cannot work.”

                “If there is a process for removing a queen, there must be a process for finding another,” Francis speculated. The operations of the Kingdom of Spades and how they placed the crown were strange to Francis, but he would gladly play along to guide Alfred towards allowing this. “Or rule by yourself if you want. There are heirs to take over when you are gone. Arthur ruled alone before you were found.”

                Alfred’s face was obviously conflicted. He wanted to believe in Francis’ vision for the future, but he couldn’t see past his prescribed duty. Francis felt again a rush of frustration at the Spades’ absolute faith in a fate destined from birth.

                “It’s merciful,” Francis said again. “You punish Arthur without taking his life. And with no title and no lands, he would remain here in Diamonds only with our goodwill.” Alfred continued to ponder this.

                “I do not want to hurt Arthur,” he said quietly at long last. “I…he’s my friend. But…he _made_ these choices, Francis. He knew this would happen!”

                “He wanted to be loved, Alfred,” Francis told him gently, not quite daring to put a hand on the excited young monarch. “In a different way than I know you love him. It was never to spite you or hurt you. It wasn’t because he does not like you or wanted a different king. He fell in love, you cannot blame him for that.”

                “I can blame him for never telling me,” Alfred said, to Francis’ surprise, with a note of resentment.

                “Tell you?” he echoed.

                “We are intended to be a partnership!” Wounded blue eyes looked down at Francis. “We are supposed to work together. I know our marriage was never based in love, but if he was going to do something like this, he should have _told_ me! Maybe I could have talked him out of it! Or at least I would have known what he was risking…”

                “Would you have let him?” Francis asked. Lili knew of Francis’ numerous affairs, but that was different—he was king, therefore irreproachable, and they had an understanding. Lili and Francis had never had a romantic note to their relationship, but they always worked, as Alfred had said, as a team. Francis would never do anything to put her life at risk—until now. But he had done his best to keep her out of it, and he had told Lili years ago about his and Arthur’s ongoing affair.

                “I don’t know,” Alfred muttered. “He never gave me the chance.” Francis tried to think of something to fill up the silence, but it was Alfred who spoke first. “Let me talk to him,” he said in a level tone. “I need to speak with him.” It took a moment, but Francis nodded consent. If Alfred really wanted to, he could have his king’s guard seize or kill Arthur right there, but Francis trusted he would not.

                Outside the door, two of Francis’ guards were waiting, staring down Alfred’s king’s guard.

                “Two,” Francis said to one of them, a Two of Diamonds. “Find the Queen of Spades and Ace Margot. Bring them here.”

                When Arthur came, he looked slightly woozy and his eyes were mildly unfocused. Francis shot a death glare at Margot, who looked away. _The sleeping draught was for the escape!_ Fortunately, Alfred didn’t seem to notice; he was too focused on his goal. And it had certainly kept Arthur from demanding to be included in this conversation, which surely would have destroyed any chance at diplomacy.

                “Why did you make me do this?” Alfred asked. “Dammit, Arthur…you have always been so…logical!” He made a frustrated gesture with one hand. “You always told me I was too impulsive and didn’t think enough about consequences!”

                “This was—” Arthur began, speaking clearly enough. Seeing his husband’s fury and proof of his army there in the hall seemed to have sobered him a bit.

                “Don’t tell me you didn’t have time!” Alfred snapped. “This has been going on almost a decade, Arthur!” Arthur looked away, appearing shamed for the first time. “What were you thinking? How could you do this?”

                “Am I not allowed one mistake in my life?” Arthur demanded defensively. “I knew the consequences, I accept them! Just take me and let us be done with it. Forget about Diamonds; you know you would win the fight.” Francis looked at him, somewhat stung by the reasonable lack of faith in his ability to come out victorious.

                Alfred took a deep breath and looked at Arthur more critically.

                “The King of Diamonds has suggested something else,” he said. Francis saw Arthur’s breath catch in his throat, anticipation tensing his muscles, and he silently tried to comfort his sweetheart. He knew Arthur was afraid; he didn’t want to die. But he would never show it.

                “Oh yes?” Arthur said, somewhat impatiently, when Alfred didn’t continue.

                “Before I tell you, you have to answer something for me,” Alfred said, glancing away, looking a bit more the stressed man that he was, rather than a king. He looked at Arthur almost hesitantly, unsure if he was allowed to ask such things. “Do you love him?”

                Arthur looked up at the ceiling. The two of them were so horrendously inept with feelings Francis could groan aloud. He feared Arthur would sooner collect his death penalty than talk about his feelings for Francis in front of anyone. Especially Francis.

                “Why should that make one whit of difference?” he asked. Normally when one’s life was on the line, they didn’t get snarky with the person who held the power, but Arthur would be defiant to his grave, Francis knew.

                “Because I want to know.” There was a lengthy pause.   

“Isn’t all this enough of an answer for you?” Arthur asked quietly when the silence was finally broken. “What more can I say?” That seemed to make sense to Alfred, and Francis, despite himself, felt his heart warm with affection for his love-wary treasure. Alfred looked between the two of them and Francis appropriately lowered his head. He had to let down his walls as well; if Alfred thought he was being tricked or made a fool of—a reasonable fear with these two and their history in their respective courts—he would never agree.

                “How long will your favor last?” he asked bluntly of Francis. Francis took yet another calming breath. His first impulse, as always, was to try to guess how to play the situation: whether Alfred wanted to hear his queen would be destitute and homeless within the year, or whether he’d always have a place in Francis’ court. But his smooth tongue would push Alfred away from their tender peace and he couldn’t figure Alfred one way or the other, so he just did something rare for the King of Diamonds: he told the truth.

                “As long as I live,” he said candidly. “Longer, if I can manage.” He and Alfred locked gazes and Francis wondered if Alfred was weighing that promise against the many other people that Francis had slept with over the years, whose turn in his limelight had come and gone. When his considerations were done, he turned back to Arthur.

                “Arthur of the House of Spades, of Champshire, I hereby strip you of all titles, deeds, lands and inheritance,” he said. “I revoke your right to the throne in the name of the Council of Spades on the grounds that you have committed high treason. I revoke your children’s rights to the throne on the grounds that you have committed high treason. I exile you from the Kingdom of Spades. If any man should see you there from this day on, you will be imprisoned and executed. Your wealth, funds and banking investments will be repossessed and absorbed by the state bank. All your possessions will be repossessed by the state. But in the name of being a merciful king, I will not kill you.”

                Francis could have fallen to his knees, hands clasped in gratitude; he nearly reached out to steady himself on the table. Even Arthur looked shocked by this turn of events.

                “Obviously the Council will review my decision and the evidence against you,” Alfred went on. “If there is any question about your treason, we will contact you.” Francis felt lightheaded with relief. “And one other thing…” He looked back at the King of Diamonds. “We will not be renewing the treaty of alliance with the Kingdom of Diamonds.” He wanted nothing more to do with the kingdom of the man who had stolen his queen, or the ex-queen himself. Francis couldn’t argue with that; he’d gotten what he wanted and Diamonds wasn’t about to be besieged by the massive royal Spade army. Francis nodded.

                “I confess that I am in your debt,” he said. “If there ever comes a time when Spades is in need of help…”

                “I’ll send you a letter,” Alfred said abruptly. His eyes passed over Arthur one more time and then he walked out towards his king’s guard. “We’re leaving,” he told them. “Let no one say we kill unnecessarily.”

                One of Francis’ guards was missing, but as Alfred gathered the king’s guard, he reappeared with Angelique in battle armor at his side.

                “Eight,” Francis greeted her. “Please, show our guests out. There is to be no war between us this day, so you may send the proper celebratory notices out.” _Tell everyone they can come home. Tell Vash the kingdom is safe. Apologize to Lili for all of this._

                Angelique nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.” She turned to the King of Spades and gave him a nod. “Your Majesty.” With her tiny guard of two, she led the Spades out of the palace. Weak-kneed, Francis turned to Arthur and they shared a disbelieving look of utter relief. His love was alive, his heart was still beating, the blood still ran in his arms; those bright green eyes, that warm stomach, grown slightly pudgy over the years, that quiet breath…! It was all still his to see and feel and hear! Francis crossed to him in two quick strides and as he pulled Arthur in, Arthur reached out to him. He crushed the ex-queen in an embrace and Arthur’s fingers knotted up in Francis’ orange cape, a fanciful part of his armor. Neither of them spoke; the room was silent but for their shaky breathing.

                “I love you,” Francis whispered to him at last, his arms tightening further still around Arthur, holding the man protectively against him. Arthur allowed it, in light of his shocking reprieve.

                “I love you too.” He pressed his face into the crook of Francis’ neck, which was mercifully still whole. He could think of nothing worse than watching his king slay his lover.

                Outside, the sun had passed its zenith as Angelique sent out the letters all across the kingdom that there was to be no war. The sun would set in a few hours, upon Francis, Arthur and what remained of the guard dining on simple bread and wine in the dining hall, laughing with all the exuberance of those who have narrowly escaped death, and in the morning it would rise upon Francis and Arthur curled up seamlessly against each other, just, Francis felt, as they were fated to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of notes for this one so bear with me.
> 
> First off-- PSYCHE! HAPPY ENDING! This chapter was actually the first thing I ever wrote for HitC and at the time it was a stand-alone oneshot, an exploration for an rp idea I'd rolled around with a friend. We started with the idea of a forbidden FrUK Cardverse romance, and I wondered how it could possibly end well, since obviously there are a million and one ways it could end terribly, and here we are. But I realized the piece lost a lot of its punch without the lead-up, so then I grudgingly committed to writing the rest of the fic and here we are.
> 
> Secondly, this is the official end, but not the end-end--there is an epilogue coming to give you a glimpse of what life is like for Francis and Arthur after this little catastrophe. Additionally, there may be an alternate ending in the works. I had a bit of a crisis when I connected this chapter to the rest and wondered if it wasn't a lame ending. In the end, I decided this was the end the story was meant to have and its the one I like best, so here it is, but if I do finish writing the alternate ending, I'll post that as well and you can read either one as "canon". 
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank everyone who's supported this fic. Thank you to everyone who's followed it, read it, liked or favorited it, and an extra big thanks to everyone who's reblogged or _commented_ on it! You all made this such a positive, enjoyable experience, it really encourages me to keep writing for the Hetalia fandom (and the FrUK fandom in particular). Hearing about your reactions to plot points, character actions and relationships is so much fun for me, as the author! 
> 
> Thank you, and thank you for reading my story! <3


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Postscript

A few clouds, little scraps of lint, blew hither and thither across the pale blue sky. The sun, lowering in the sky, threw a golden light across the gardens of Crystallides. In the grass, on a chair beneath a canopy sat Queen Lili, watching a curly-haired boy frolic around in the grass before her.

                “I don’t think he has slowed down since he learned to walk,” she remarked as he tumbled down and sprang up again just as quickly.

                “Perhaps he’ll be a sporting type,” commented her companion. Arthur, former Queen of Spades, sat on a chaise lounge beneath the canopy with Lili, watching her son. On the small table beside him was a book, open but mostly abandoned. The chilly spring air was giving way to summer warmth, and both queens (or ex-queen, in Arthur’s case) were enjoying the weather.

                The boy was just into his third year, and seemed to very much enjoy the attention he got in court. Lili lamented he was too much like his father in that regard, but strangers could still keep him close to his mother’s skirts.

                “Maybe he will,” she said, turning her head as he raced around the canopy. Arthur flexed his shoulder, where the Spade tattoo had once sat. After Arthur’s exile and dethronement, Yao had searched and searched the Spades archives for rules on removing Spades royals from power. It involved a spell and a ritual that stripped the queen of his birthright, and scorched the Spade tattoo black and cracked, to symbolize the loss of his power. It required the combined efforts of the king, jack and ace to accomplish, and Arthur still had nightmares about the pain. But it was done, and King Alfred now ruled the Kingdom of Spades alone. “Or maybe he is just going to keep me very busy.”

                “That could be as well.” It had been three years, and Arthur still didn’t know what to say to Queen Lili. He’d become a de facto part of their family, but even if Lili appeared to bear him no ill will, Arthur always felt uncomfortable around the woman whose husband he had carried on a prolonged affair with. Particularly when she was with her son, as little Hugo was a manifestation of her marriage with Francis. For the first two years, he had just tried to avoid her, but lately he had thought perhaps he should try to socialize more. After all, if Lili could forgive him, he should be able to move past it as well.

                “Francis thinks he could be a jouster,” Lili said, frowning slightly and reaching for the cup of tea beside her.

                “You disapprove?” Arthur lifted his gaze to her face. Her hair was gathered up into a net beneath her hat and gave her profile a most noble look.

                “Jousting is dangerous,” she said. “That’s how Six Antonio crippled his shoulder.”

                “He could be a hunter,” Arthur supplied as one of Hugo’s nannies made her way across the grounds to rejoin them. He was never without one of them for long.

                “He could be many things,” Lili said. “I do wonder what he will be when he grows up though.”

                “Do you see anything in his future?” Arthur asked. Lili shook her head.

                “No, not yet. I knew he was going to be a boy when I carried him, but I haven’t seen anything about what or whom he might be,” she answered. Raising her gaze from her teacup, she observed: “Ah. Here comes Francis.” To say that she had displeased with his choices of late was an understatement. But Lili had a soft heart and she couldn’t condone throwing Arthur out after he’d been exiled, so she reconciled herself to his presence. Furthermore, she hadn’t seen Francis this happy in over a decade. It was hard to argue with that, and now that they had an heir, her place as queen was unquestionable. She was irreproachable. Even Arthur couldn’t threaten her position, though she trusted that Francis would never let that happen anyway.

                “Hello, my queen,” he greeted her when he arrived at the canopy. “My lord,” he addressed Arthur, refraining from any kisses, chaste or otherwise. He refrained from very overt displays of affection with Arthur in public for Lili’s sake, and for appearances. The nanny was the only one around now, being chased down by Hugo, who broke off his game and made for the tent when he saw his father there.

                “Papa!” He ran over and came to a halt at Francis’ feet. “Hello Papa, Your Majesty.” Arthur snickered a little, and Francis scooped the little boy up and sat down on the bottom of the chaise lounge, never mind Arthur’s feet.

                “What have you been up to today?” he asked, setting Hugo on his leg and bouncing him up and down.

                “Nana and I have been playing chase!” he chirped, bouncing up and down. “I won!” The nanny, panting by the edge of the canopy, nodded in wordless agreement.

                “Good job little one,” Francis praised him, rubbing his curls affectionately. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here to see it.”

“I can show you now!” Hugo offered brightly, pawing at Francis’ chest.

“That’s a wonderful idea, my flea. Why don’t you show us how fast you can run?” He set Hugo down and let him chase off after the nanny, Francis and Lili calling encouragement to him.

                “How was parliament today?” Lili asked when Hugo had collapsed in the grass and the nanny was sucking in as many deep breaths as she could get before the child was up again. Francis rubbed his chin and jaw and sighed.

                “They want to raise tariffs on agricultural imports,” he said. “I do not think it’s a good idea but…” He shrugged. Since the fiasco with the Kingdom of Spades, Francis had been more or less forced to accept a constitutional monarchy. It had been drafted and implemented last year, so they were still working out kinks, but the days of the absolute monarchy of Diamonds seemed past.

                “You will have to let them figure out what’s good or bad on their own,” Lili said. The king sighed.

                “I know, my lady.” Despite the fact that Francis had never seemed overjoyed to be the King of Diamonds, neither was he pleased to have to give up power. But knowing that he was lucky to have gotten by without assassination or execution in light of what he’d pulled with Arthur, he kept his head down and accepted the changes. He glanced around. “None of your entourage have accompanied you,” he observed.

                “I sent them off when you gave us word you were coming,” she said. “I thought it might be better that way.”

                “You are as perceptive as ever, my queen,” he praised. Hugo returned to the tent and clambered onto the chaise lounge, crawling over Arthur’s legs to sit by his father.

                “Look what I found,” he said, holding his hands up to Arthur, since Francis was busy talking to Lili.

                “You know, you had better be careful when you let him in your room,” Arthur informed Francis, holding a centipede up by one end. The king looked over at Hugo grasping for his insect, dangling from Arthur’s hand.

                “Ew. Hugo, do not put bugs in someone’s face, that’s rude,” he said as Arthur tossed the centipede out into the grass.

                “My centipede!”

                “A firm hand, I’m sure,” Arthur said dryly.

                “We can hardly all be as caustic as you, Arthur,” Francis replied dismissively. “Besides, surely you can handle a little bug.”

                “Oh? Did you want to go grab it and bring it back so we can see how well you handle it?” Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow.

                “I’m sure it’s doing quite well in the grass,” Francis said, eyeing the area where Arthur had thrown the centipede.

                Hugo relocated himself on his mother’s chair in light of the tragedy that had befallen his bug, and snuggled against her side.

                “Maybe it’s time for you to go inside,” she remarked. Hugo mumbled something into her dress. “Mhm.” She got up and scooped the child up. “Will you be coming with us?” she asked the two men.

                “In a moment,” Francis assured her. “The sun will be going down soon anyway.” Lili summoned the nanny and the three of them made their way back towards the palace.

                “Are you alright, spending time with them?” Francis asked, looking over at Arthur, who rolled his eyes.

                “Please, Francis, I’m not made of glass. I understand you have a wife and child. I had a husband when this all started, if you recall.”

                “I know,” he said, his tone surrendering. “I just wanted to…make sure.”

                “Lili’s been very…accommodating,” Arthur said, glancing briefly away. He didn’t want to talk about emotional things now (or ever). “It’s all quite fine, Francis. You don’t have to keep checking on me every few months.”

                “I just…you lost a great deal,” he said quietly, putting a hand on Arthur’s leg. “I want to make sure you are happy here.”

                “I made my own choices, Francis,” Arthur reminded him. “As much trouble as they have caused me...I cannot bring myself to regret them.”

                “No? That’s good to hear,” Francis said, squeezing Arthur’s leg a little.

                “Of course not,” the Spade said. “If it weren’t for our asinine folly, I would never have been with you.” That brought a smile to Francis’ lips and he leaned in to kiss Arthur, who tilted his chin up in response, returning the kiss.

                “Thank God for human folly then,” Francis said, drawing back. Arthur struck him lightly on the arm with his book.

                “Try not to be more sentimental than you can help,” he said, but he didn’t protest when Francis grinned and kissed him again.

                “I suppose we had better go catch up with Lili and Hugo for dinner, hm?” Francis got up off the chaise lounge.

                “We should,” Arthur agreed, feeling his stomach support the idea of a meal. He too, got up and stretched a little, tucking his book under one arm. “I heard Clubs might be sending their Ace down, is that so?”

                “I have been discussing it with Ivan, yes,” Francis said as they began to stroll through the myriad of pristine white daisies towards the palace.

                “That would be nice,” Arthur mused. “Maybe the north could start to thaw a little. Less tension with Spades would be a relief.”

                “I admire your uncharacteristic optimism,” Francis chuckled. “Let us wait and see if Roderich will even come, first.” He leaned down and plucked a daisy, tucking it behind Arthur’s ear. The other man gave him a sardonic look, but stopped short of pulling the daisy out and tossing it aside.

                “Were all these daisies your idea?” Arthur asked. “Or Lili’s?”

                “Neither,” Francis said. “They don’t usually grow here, they just started last spring…”

                “Hm.”

                “Do you disapprove?” Francis asked.

                “No. I suppose…they’re a nice touch,” he said.

                As they drew closer to the doors, Arthur could hear violins playing in the conservatory, and Hugo had passed his momentary fatigue to dance clumsily with the Five of Diamonds’ six-year-old daughter. Lili and Five Emma were twirling each other around and laughing, trying to show their children how it was done. Arthur felt a distinctly warm swell in his chest at the scene, when he noticed Francis bowing to him. He looked over, and the King of Diamonds was holding out his hand.

                “Care for a dance, my lord?” A smile twitched on Arthur’s lips, and he took Francis’ hand after a moment.

                “I would love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> There it is, the end of my best chapter fic! Thank you, thank you to everyone who read it, I really enjoyed writing it and sharing it with you! Now go forth and write your own cardverse fics, or discover others to read and review!
> 
> And! Bonus points to anyone who can figure out the heavy-handed symbol that represented Francis and Arthur's relationship throughout the fic. This was the first time I really attempted to use a continual thread of symbolism in a piece of writing, so it wasn't very subtle, but it's an intriguing way of knitting themes of the story together, so I'll probably try more in the future.
> 
> [On tumblr](http://imakemywings.tumblr.com/post/150300959880/heavy-is-the-crown-epilogue)


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